


Sonnets of Four

by mikochan_noda, peonydee



Series: A Study of Letters [2]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Arranged Marriages AU, Blood, Courtship, Did we say politics?, Exposition Galore, F/M, Fantasy AU, Food Porn, Food mention, Gen, In Medias Res, Intrigue, Loads of Papertrail, Mari and Adrien pls calm down, Politics, Royalty AU, Seduction, Sexual Innuendos but nothing too explicit, What do you expect in a fic dedicated to courting?, Worldbuilding, lots of tension, tons of flirting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-20 04:11:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9475130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikochan_noda/pseuds/mikochan_noda, https://archiveofourown.org/users/peonydee/pseuds/peonydee
Summary: Book II ofA Study of LettersSeries.Sonnets of Fourcovers the stipulated year of courtship between the two monarchs. Each season brings Adrien and Mari closer to seeing the Union unfold----and to each other.(Who are we kidding? Please see more of dorky, shameless flirting and pseudo-political maneuverings throughout their interminable wait.)





	1. Winter I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For our readers from the last installment, thank you! 
> 
> Now, shall we continue where we left off? (letters done by [o-deko-ton](http://o-deko-ton.tumblr.com/), sigils by [sheehanmebaby](sheehanmebaby.tumblr.com) | [sharkkkat](https://www.instagram.com/sharkkkat/))

_The following short missives were deciphered by the celebrated cryptologist, Dr. Kubdel, part of his ongoing work with the Faeles ciphers:_

__

**Figure 2.0 :** “Blanc” (HRH, P.F.A.) sending a message to “Noir” (HRM, K.A.A.), a week before his First State Visit to Adarna, using the Keyword _Chaton._ (Source : _Decoding Faeles Ciphers, F. Library, Kubdel  Ph.D. pg. 20_ )

_noir,_

_suspicious northern activity. have kubdel slink through the cracks. bri’s with me._

_be safe,_  
_blanc_

* * *

“I love you, man.” Nino shivered violently, his shuddering breath fogging in the air. “But by the gods, let me say the truth wholeheartedly: I think you’re nuts.”

“I promised Mari!” Adrien protested while leading their horses, trying not wince at how slowly they trudged uphill. “I said that I’ll tell her immediately if I ever find any news about her sister.”

Nino groaned, palming his face with his thick mittens for a few moments, before slowly sliding down his hands.

“Maybe you could have sent a letter?” He almost wanted to knock Adrien, face first, into the knee-deep snow. “ A notice? Or… sent Alix there first, before investigating the Northern barricades? I don’t think Mari would like us to become the newest ice sculptures on their lawn.”

“I don’t think Fé would appreciate it if someone found out I had contact with him.”

"Your Highness, if you think promoting me to personal secret-keeper is enough for me to forgive you for dragging me through this frozen slush, you're gravely mistaken." Nino groused, trying to make sense of which direction they were heading. The fact that they even had to use the northern pass was raising his hackles, but by some grace of luck, they were warned of the landslides that made impassable the safer southeastern roads.

The northern pass was well-known for being the quickest way to Fenghuang. It was also known to be the steepest, most lethal road as well.

“Félix is the one who usually goes to Adarna.”

Adrien stopped as they reached the crest of the road, where it led them to a wide empty space of white. He squinted, trying to make out the dark stretch of trees out in the distance.

“I might have seen this on the maps…” He pointed to the thickest copse of dead trees. “There’s a bridge being built about that way.”

“When were those maps last updated?” Nino asked, rubbing his nose, checking if it was still there.

“I found it in Fé’s study. Probably three months ago, a fortnight before he left.”

“So you’re assuming that at least the framework is finished by this time? Enough for us to cross?”

Nino placed a thumb on his own jaw. Good, he could still move it.

“Yes,” Adrien said with a nod, before moving again on foot. They didn’t want to risk the sudden precipitous drops the cliffs were infamous for, so for now they felt their way at a crawl, leading their mounts down the incline. “It’ll probably be the quickest way to the city. But I don’t think anyone’s been using it, with this kind of weather and those roads being prone to landslides.”

They slogged through the thick snow, as the narrow road widened enough for four people to walk side-by-side, but Adrien was not going to tempt fate, entering the woods with a wary eye. Black outcrops were scattered across the snow, but the area was devoid of life.

Nino figured that this would’ve been a great place to stroll through during spring, judging by the small frozen creeks he could see zigzagging through the white expanse. In some places, he could see smooth stones through the clear ice, lining the waterbeds and banks. Towering trees dotted the area in clumps, grotesque and undressed now, but come warmer weather would provide excellent shade.

“Why _winter_ , Adrien?” Nino pulled his lips straight into a scowl. Glowering at the back of the prince’s mink hood coat, he followed despite his exasperated questions. “Adarna is at its best during _spring_.”

“It’s the only chance I’ve got. Nathalie got me covered. I said I’ll be gone for a week or so and be back as soon as possible.” Adrien’s frustrated huff seemingly prompted a gust of wind that iced whatever remaining part of Nino’s body was left unfrozen, their horses snorting in wretched commiseration. He reached out a leather gloved hand to rub the back of the Friesian stud’s ears. “Besides, don’t you want to see Alya?”

“Nope.”

“ _What?_ ”

“We see each other every weekend?”

The silence was broken with a sputter from Nino’s seal brown steed. Adrien turned a petulant glare at him, crushing the snow beneath his thick boots, unnecessarily loud.

“Come on, Alya’s not even at the city right now. I have no idea where she is on workdays.”

Adrien walked further.  

“Man, I hate the slush. The cold. Everything about this sucks.”

“You should write songs on how you hate snow, Nino,” Adrien snapped in irritation, as they finally reached the end of the dead woodland. They could already spot the bark and stone bridge about a hundred paces away, which seemed to lead to a clean path that in turn promised to be an artery back into the main road.    

“Sure, compose a swan song before we freeze to death.” Nino rolled his eyes. “That’s nice.”

His companion’s retort went unsaid. Eyes narrowing to slits, he barely had time to hiss--  

“Bandits.”

\--before they were surrounded by about fifteen men, in different shapes and sizes, wielding cracked machetes, flickering butterfly knives into ready, and even training an improvised wooden pistol at their outnumbered prey. The smaller men hunched themselves into a crouch, surrounding those with sturdier builds, blocking possible paths of escape.

Adrien widened his stance and slowly unfastened the left lapel of his coat to reveal its contents...

“Will you let us on our way? I’m afraid we didn’t bring much money with us.”  

The only answer he got was a surge of wild cries before they ran to him.

Nino grabbed the pair of rattan _baston_ that were hanging from his hips, his heavy green cloak flaring at his back.

“You,” he rasped, running to Adrien’s side. He diverted a knife from his blonde charge with a hard blow on the assaulter’s now-broken wrist, while thrusting its paired rod to another one’s neck with a quick swipe. “And your black luck, _Chat_.”

“Hey, I didn’t know this is why Mari wanted to know if I was planning a visit.” Taking off his coat and throwing it over a smaller bandit’s head, Adrien grabbed his still sheathed saber from his waist and delivered two swift jabs at the cowled face. He dodged the downward stroke of a huge _bolo_ knife and dislocated the attacker’s shoulder with a bone-cracking swing. “I thought a surprise would be _claw_ some.”

Nino let out a strangled groan, trapping a bandit’s arm with his wooden canes and breaking it with a rapid twist. “I can’t believe that I’m hearing this now. Please don’t pun. I’m not Mari to appreciate it.”

“You did say you love me, Nino.” Adrien winked before cracking someone’s nose with the saber’s pommel. Then his playful expression turned furious, snarling. “Behind you!”

Next thing Nino knew, he was on the ground, shoved hard on the side. He heard the telling crack of gunfire and the familiar hiss of steel. At his periphery, he caught sight of Cataclysm, a slim, black blade that seemed to pierce the clouded sky, hurled out of its sheath by its master. Lahiffe scrambled to his knees, rods ready.

The bandits trembled as the victim shrieked, writhing on the snow horribly. Even if the man was only grazed with a cut on his arm, he seemed to suffer excruciating pain. A few heartbeats later, the screaming stopped as the poor soul rolled his head to one side and passed out.

Adrien was breathing heavily, his left shoulder damp with something dark. Nino knew that he was shot, and judging from the trickle of blood dripping on the white ground, it needed to be treated soon.

But Adrien refused to back down, voice becoming as deadly as his blade.

“Leave.”

He raised his blade, pointing to the cowering men who looked at the unconscious bandit in fear.

“Now.”

They scampered to the direction of the bridge, trying to outrace each other in haste, when suddenly, one by one, they tripped to the ground. The escaping bandits moaned as they reached for their legs, a shaft of arrow or two protruding from their limbs.

Nino noticed that the soft fletchlings were dyed in red.

They were safe.

Nino took off his cloak, bunched it into a ball, and pressed it to Adrien’s bleeding wound.

“That was careless.” Adrien gritted his teeth in pain, one hand on top of Nino’s trembling one. They observed in silence as the two figures in the distance collected the criminals and tied them up. “I should’ve borrowed your staff.”

“This whole trip was careless.” Nino scanned the snowy ground for more blood spatters. “Exit wound?”

“None, but it's a clean wound, no bone involved. I think the ball-bullet didn’t even go that deep.” Adrien shook his head, then staggered to Nino’s side. “I don’t think I like Fé’s parting gift.”

“It’s the first time you used it,” Nino assured, wrapping an arm around Adrien’s waist. He glanced at the passed-out attacker, at the small graze made by the cursed blade now swollen, at the exposed skin of the man’s entire limb impossibly purpling with bruises, so soon after the injury and in spite of the frigid temperature that should have kept blood flowing away from his skin. “This guy’s still alive.”

“I’m glad it didn’t kill him.” Adrien gave him a relieved smile, as he slid his blade back to its scabbard. “I was terrified that I might do something that I’ve seen it do once. I can’t-”

Of course, the fabled Cataclysm would always be a figure of nightmares for anyone who have heard or seen it in action. It was formally gifted to heirs presumptive a year before they came of age, though in actuality, only wielded by the active ruling king of Aelurus. Granted King Gabriel retired soon after the Queen’s tragic demise, Félix as regent had been wielding his birthright for six years until he passed it on to his brother. It was rumored that if used wrongly, the cursed blade could corrupt one’s heart, till it consumed the wielder with an unquenchable thirst for death and destruction.

Yet even after acquiring Plagg’s mythical saber, the Aelurians have always produced great rulers, none of whom had time and hindsight accused of tyranny. Nino knew the fact served little comfort to Adrien. People forget, especially when it was convenient to forget. Yes, he feared the sword. He feared the power it conferred, the certainty of victory that came with each blow and parry he knew could not be blocked by mortal weapons, let alone living flesh...

“Adrien, it’s yours.” Nino interrupted him firmly, cutting through his panic. He nudged his chin to the unconscious man, who was still breathing. Not burning to death. Not spasming as their insides burst. “The sword is even adjusting to you. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that happen before.”

His golden head sagged against his in relief. “I don’t feel so good though.”

“Your Royal Highness,” came a soft voice from behind them. “Sir Lahiffe.”

Nino managed a tired smile as the speaker appeared before them. “Lady Couffaine,” he said.

She touched the violet lock on her forehead, a customary Adarnian greeting. “Thank the goddess we have heard the screams,” she said. “Alya warned me to look out on the main roads, but Kim heard the commotion and managed to apprehend your robbers.”

“Thank you.” Nino wasn’t surprised that Juleka didn’t appear to be ruffled by the presence of an Aelurian prince. “As much as I would like to know how Alya knew I was coming, I think His Highness needs medical help as soon as possible.”

“Of course, we’ll lead you to one of our stations as soon as possible. It’s only a short horse trot away from here.” Juleka gathered the reins of their horses and whistled. Kim returned two sharp notes, before running towards them from the bridge. “Alya sent Her Royal Highness a missive.”

“Her Royal Highness?” Adrien stammered, looking bewildered. “Mari? Does she know I’m---”

But Adrien suddenly stopped, his breathing shuddering before he completely slumped his weight on Nino, who staggered at this sudden imbalance, tilting forward before managing to keep the prince from hitting the ground.

“ _Shit._ ”

This is not happening. This is very, very bad. Nino would not survive an official Aelurian Inquisition if Adrien--

“Lay him down on your lap. Turn his head to the right!” Lady Couffaine commanded, voice sharp, before looking at Nino, who was stiff frozen. She took out her smallest knife with a flick of a wrist. “I need you to hold His Highness, Nino. We don’t have much time.”

“Juleka, we need to go to your station,” Nino pressed.

“No, we can’t allow any rumors that he’s been hurt on Adarnian soil. Take it off.” She pried off the makeshift pressure bandage, before a hulking man dressed in red, a great bow slung on his back, came forward with a grin.

“I’ve tied them up so we can bring them back with us...Holy Lady’s bu--”

“Kim, I need you to make a smokeless fire. We need some water.” Juleka began tearing Adrien’s sleeves with her knife, before wiping the blade on her trousers. She then outstretched her arm, knife at ready, and with an incline of her head, she added, “But I need your canister first.”  
  
“Aw, Jul.”

The archer groaned, but he still took out a silver tin from one of his leather pouches. Kim unscrewed the lid and handed out the tin. A strong, sweet pungent smell of moonshine overpowered the scent of blood, and he poured it on the knife, then on the open wound.

Adrien, still unconscious, jerked against Nino’s arms.

“Hold him down.” A brown owl-like eye peered at Nino, trying to assure him as she slid a knife to the bleeding hole. Nino stared at the woman’s purple locks, determined not to make things worse by throwing up.

“This amount of blood loss, and I can see the ball with the slightest prodding...It is not enough to make him faint.” Juleka’s voice became soothing, as she seemed to know he wasn’t comfortable watching this. “You’ve only been traveling for two hours from the nearest village?”

“An hour and a half.” Nino corrected, shaking his head. He glanced at the sword on Adrien’s right hand, his fingers wrapped loosely on the hilt. ”It’s probably the...blade.”

“Oh.” She nodded. Everyone knew about the legends surrounding the sword. With one swift flick of her wrist, the ball plopped to the ground. Nino gave that tiny thing a heavy gaze: that one homemade bullet almost obliterated an entire country. “Then we have to get him as soon as possible to Her Highness. We just need to make sure this doesn’t get infected. I have a few powders to mix and pour to these wounds, before we can wrap this.”

Nino was anxious, knowing that at this time, the capital would be bustling with crowds, as it was time for most of the workers to head home.

“So how can we bring him to the city without anyone noticing?”

“We have Kim.” Juleka made a grimace.“Lady Mari is not going to like this.”

* * *

 

 

[ **Figure 2.1 :** _On Display_ **-** A crude bullet, with an accompanied limerick, believed to be a song orally told to hunters in Aelurian woods during the Joint Abdication Crisis. (Source : _Decoding Faeles Ciphers, F. Library, Kubdel Ph.D. pg. 31_ )]

[a wildcat was shot,  
was caught on spot!  
but the cat we fear.  
is not yet clear,  
till we stir the pot.

\--the sport, by N]

* * *

The wall-less city of Fenghuang was shrouded by the same thick fog that concealed the true heights of the monstrosities surrounding it. Coming from the relatively lower lands of the southern Adarnian valley, the jagged peaks of the Yumao cordillera dominated the skyline of the northeast. It was quite breathtaking, riding to the city from the south or west via the largest major road of Adarna. One would reach the crest of a hill that seemed but a lostling child of the mountains behind it, then suddenly from below, with its perfectly proportioned grid-like streets seemingly etched unto the ground, Fenghuang emerges from its blanket of perpetual fog. Clutching at the delicate package they were transporting, Nino and his armed escorts galloped straight through the streets of the capital and to its heart, the Dupain-Cheng manor.  
  
There were smaller walled compounds within the city, but its walls were meant to keep out wild animals and an occasional horse thief, not invading armies. Most buildings were one or two story chalets, made of tarred wood and chiseled stone. Row after row of storehouses bearing grains, root crops, and various other dry goods attested to the city's role as a financial center, while a line of masts rising in the south reminded Nino of the river harbor that was nowhere near as utilized as Aelurian ports. They rode northeast through the city and stopped before steel gates and spiked wooden walls---the Adarnian Royal residence.

The Dupain-Cheng manor was a massive, quadrangular complex of contiguous buildings, all opening to a central courtyard. Her gates opened to a cobblestone lane that was flanked by wooden walls, seamlessly continued from the outside and interrupted by small featureless doors here and there. A brisk canter brought them to the central courtyard, used by the grounds staff as vegetable gardens, thick with greens in some patches and brown with seeded loams in others. In the middle was a small fountain, from which the cobblestone lane broke into five branches. The lower right one led to a squat smoking building, the Dupain-Chengs famous bakery and possibly Nino's second most favorite place in the entire country. Directly opposite it, the one the lower left branch led to, was the entrance to the dining hall, an enormous warehouse-like edifice that connected to the kitchens. The other two branches led to the Royal quarters---the princesses' apartments and the Royal Offices.

They continued down the path to the princesses’ apartments and stopped where it terminated. The double doors were plain but sturdy, would have been unremarkable if not for the sentries idling before them, fully armed and uniformed in the colors of the house.

“Lady Couffaine!” greeted one of the guards, touching three fingers over a lock of orange on their forehead. He then glanced at the blood-stained bundle that was carried in the hunter’s arms, and gave his salutations as well. “Sir Lê.”

“Good evening.” Juleka nodded, then waved a hand towards Nino, who gave him a respectful nod. “This is one of Her Highness’s friends, Nino. We were scouting the western point and happened to come upon him, along with a dying stag in one of his traps. It would be a waste of a gift to abandon good venison to the wild.”

The guard looked confused, scratching his chin. “But why didn’t you cut it up?”

“We never found any smaller bags, even at the station.” She patted the swaddled package. “But I do think Her Highness would like to assess it before we deliver it to the kitchens.”

“Ah, a rich meat for tomorrow?” The guard raised his spear and was about to give a playful poke to the package, much to the horror of the three people on horseback.

“Yuan!”

The doors burst open and a flare of flowing red silk ran out.

“Your Highness!” The guard suddenly bowed his head, retracting his weapon. “You should wear your coat. It’s very cold outside.”

“Thank you, Yuan. I’ll keep that in mind later when I go to the kitchens. Next time, don’t play with your food.” She spoke tersely, her focus only at Nino’s solemn face as he dislodged himself from the saddle and carefully handled the middle of the heavy bundle. “Come quickly, Juleka. Kim, take Sir Yuan with you and please wait for Alya’s arrival. I’ll see you all in my office later. ”

Briskly, they walked inside the princesses’ home and down a hallway of white walls, decorated with various painted landscapes of Adarna. Some of them even featured framed portraits with her family, most often with Lady Bridgette, and a single charcoal sketch of Alya sitting on a chair, head askew, hair loose on her shoulders, drowsing.

Marinette turned right and opened a brass knob on a well-polished door.

“Inside.” She directed, and to his surprise, took Adrien off his arms, her bare arms bunching at the weight as she carried the Prince sideways and kicked the door to open it wider. “Juleka, the bathroom is the next door. I’ve boiled my needles and threads. If you need more packets to make the salve, it’s under the sink.”

“I had no crushed poppies.” Juleka shook her head, “Do you--?”

“Make a small amount of painkiller first. Then bring it with my needles. ”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

If possible, Mari’s lips became tighter, her mandible tensed as she laid the swaddled man on her bare mattress. The simple bed frame was placed parallel to the fireplace, where a fire was roaring at its hottest. Nino’s bones were thawed, but he could still feel the cold sweat dripping from his skin. No intensity of heat could remedy that.

They started untying the tight knots at the sides of the package, with Nino himself impatiently yanking at the holes they had ripped to ensure the prince obtained enough air. Soon enough, they uncovered his pale face. Wax-like fingers fluttered to the rise of his cheeks, then they went to the curve of his jaw, moving his head to one side, before they slid to settle at the dip of his neck.

“He’s cold. Weak pulse.” She assessed the wound next, carefully unwinding the bloodied makeshift bandage. They had agreed to tear up Adrien’s dress shirt earlier, in order to ensure his torso sustained no other injury, and had opted to cover him entirely with their cloaks and packed blankets to preserve his body heat. “How long has he been out?”

“Ninety minutes,” Nino answered. “We galloped through the streets.” Blue eyes glared sharply; he assured her with a nod. “We took horses through the side gates of the helm, so if possible, only a few people saw us.”

“Alright.” She exhaled, relieved. “I think Juleka had cleaned the wound well, I need to make sure it’s not infected. Why did he pass out?”

“He had…” Nino bit his lip. If only he had been more careful… “Cataclysm.”

The tinkling of water stopped next door. Juleka entered the room with a porcelain bowl and an open brown bottle that smelled like rotting flowers.

“Nino,” Mari spoke, still calm. “Go to my office. Once Kim finishes briefing Alya, I want you to bring her to me.”

He opened his mouth, his blood-stained hands clenching. “I’m sorry. It’s my fau--”

“Later,” she cut him off. “We’ll talk. It’s not your fault.”

“But--”

“If you want to be scolded, rest assured---it’s the reason I’m sending you to Alya. Be back here after that.”  

* * *

 

Toasty.

Cocoa. Sprinkles of cinnamon. Sugar.

There was the sound of crackling flames and the homey scent of hot chocolate. Throat painfully dry, he tried to move his watering mouth, but he couldn't seem to work his jaws loose. His limbs were numb, eyelids too sluggish to open.

When he finally coaxed his eyes into slits, the first thing he saw were bloodstains on a beautiful white slope of a shoulder.

Adrien managed to swallow a panicked cry when he saw dark strands of hair unbound, falling over most of the margins of his sight. He slowly turned his head, dreading to see her somehow injured, only to find her blue eyes staring at him in a cold, calculating manner.

“Ma-” He croaked out. Why couldn't he move his left arm?

A hand softly cradled the base of his skull, lifting him slowly. It seemed she added a pillow beneath his head, for he felt himself sinking into it as soon as she released him, her thumb brushing against his cracked lips as her hand rushed away. Her eyes were deep and blue, like the sky before the break of dawn. He wasn't sure what she intended to do, hovering over him with an unreadable expression, before she leaned back, sitting stiffly at his right, on a cot beside his bed.

Her bed?

“You’ve been out for two hours,” Marinette spoke quietly. “There’s rice porridge for you to eat.”

“Mari,” he tried again.

When he got nothing but silence and her careful appraisal of him, he in turn gleaned her appearance. She wore a beautiful red gown that hid most of her arms but exposed the curve of her shoulders, the arc of her throat, and the lines of her collarbone. Raven locks curled at the edges of her face, spilled down the pale skin of her neck. Shadows played at her impassive face, her lips a straight line.

He finally remembered something from before he lost consciousness.

“You knew I was coming?”

“You two brothers are really cut from the same cloth.”

He flinched; her voice was like touching metal during freezing winter with one's bare hands.

“I'm starting to rethink this, Prince.” She angled her head to one side, as if finding him an oddity. “I thought the purpose of this entire exercise is to ensure peace in our kingdoms, and what's the first thing you do, even before this whole courting fiasco started?”

“My Lady--”

Her voice now lowered to a whisper, trembling. Afraid.

“Do you realize what could have happened?”

“I’m--” By the Claw, he just wanted to surprise her. Adrien didn’t think that he would cause so much trouble; he intended to sneak in, introduce himself to the King and Queen, and share with her the good news about her sister. “I’m sorry.”

“A dead prince within my borders,” she reiterated, voice trembling. Her eyes were still dry, but she was blinking furiously to keep them that way. “The crown prince of Aelurus dead in my watch.”

Adrien lowered his head in contrition.

“This is exactly what I was afraid of.” Slowly, Marinette rose from the bed. A trail of scarlet silk brushed across his exposed arm. A hand gently brushed a lock of hair away from his face and tucked it behind his ear. “That we'd both get caught with our heads in the clouds and abandon our senses.”

He couldn't argue with her, not when she seemed more drained than he was.

“I don’t think I can deal with this.”

He felt her warm fingers retreat.

A few seconds later, he heard her soft footfalls fade, followed by a shutting door, hollow and final.

Looking at the covered bowl at his bedside, Adrien decided that the thought of food made him sick. He clutched at sleep instead and chased her lingering sweet scent where he could: in his dreams.


	2. Winter II

“Hey, bud.”

Adrien woke up to the gentle sunlight seeping through stained windows and the warm spotted fleece quilt that was wrapped around him. The fireplace now housed a small fire that licked a fat slab of wood with relish. He stared at the smug fire for a few blank seconds, recalling where he was and why the unfamiliar room didn’t alarm him to worst case scenarios.

Nino stood at the foot of his bed, wearing a dark blue shirt and maroon breeches. He was slouching against the light, rose-patterned walls, the same design Mari had once described while gushing about how she loved her quarters. But her favorite part of the bedroom, Adrien suddenly remembered, was the lone panel of stained glass that took in the early morning light.

Mari had once chronicled its creation to him across at least five letters, telling him of the mosaic artisan that had wandered to her hometown and in exchange for room and board had generously helped her create one square foot of stained glasswork, the design all hers. (In retrospect, Adrien realized the teacher must have been a famous Adarnian craftsman and an honored guest of the court who likely doted upon the creative princess.)  The chamber suited her really well; the shaft of sunlight that bent through the stained glass and sparkled across the room highlighted everything in a spectrum of colors, made it as vibrant and joyous as its resident.

“I’m supposed to wake her up.” Brown eyes dropped to Adrien’s side; Adrien winced, fully knowing who he would find there. “Alya said before she left that I’d better have her in the office at sunrise.”

Adrien moved his head, ignoring the telltale crick of his neck, to look at Marinette, curled up next to him and still wearing her clothes from last night.

“Did she scold you? We never heard any screaming, or--”

“It was worse.” Adrien raised his left arm, glad that he could at least move it, despite the soreness. He ran his hand through her sleeping head, but even that clumsy gesture failed to rouse her. He caught the purple bruises beneath her eyes, noting how she didn’t seem disturbed by their talking. “She was gentle with me. Even after I almost single-handedly destroyed all she’s built.”

“Look man, I know that if you didn’t use the sword, it wouldn’t look half as bad but--”

“I know. This was… irresponsible of me.” His hand now found hers, found her lax fist holding on to something. Curious, Adrien slowly pried her fingers open, only to close his eyes and exhale harshly when he did see. “I don’t want to bring all her efforts in this to waste.”

When he turned to Nino, his friend was looking at the open door, arms crossed, jaw tight.

Nino was probably giving them a sense of privacy, had probably been trying to disappear ever since Adrien reached for Marinette.

"I guess," Adrien said, as much to release his right-hand man from his self-enforced stillness as to break the silence. "I must have been too overconfident. I know I'm not universally liked in these parts, but hey, we're not at war here. I'm not here to un-subjugate entire island nations.... I kinda forgot I didn't have a standing army to rescue me, if I mess up."  
  
"And even then, you never really needed your retinue," Nino agreed ruefully. "You never needed much rescuing, for all your adventures in the Souther Harbors, but that doesn't mean you're invincible."  
  
Adrien winced at the word. He considered himself a cautious person. He never would have associated "invincible" with himself in the past.  
  
"It might be the cabin fever, too," he admitted. "It's just that I've been cooped up in that castle for so long... more than year now? I don't know. I just needed to... stretch, maybe."  
  
"I'm sorry, man. I'd like to say I should have been more forceful in talking you out of it, but now that you pointed it out, we can't cage you either."  
  
"Don't be sorry, Nino. I'm just going to have to be more careful. It's a different way of thinking, I guess. I've never had to think of my safety having ramifications on other people or things."

“Yes. You’re not just the spare prince anymore, Adrien. You shouldn't be so careless of your safety.”

“I know.”

Nino pushed himself off the wall, looked at the both of them, at Adrien’s hand still wrapped around hers. Before leaving, he gave Adrien a small, sad smile and a last admonishment.

“You can't promise your life to someone else and not take care of it.”

It caused quite a commotion when the Crown Prince of Aelurus, His Royal Highness, Adrien Agreste appeared before the Royal Office doors at mid-afternoon, after a stablehand discovered his and his man’s steeds at the royal stables, already rubbed down and munching on royal oats and carrots. As explained by Sir Lahiffe, now dressed in clean, black nobleman’s clothes, they had discreetly come to the city by night to request an audience with Lady Marinette, and that Prince Adrien personally made the visit in order to underline the importance of continuing negotiations towards the Union.

At first, the news came as a relief to the Adarnians. What with the recent news of Lady Bridgette running away, of her possibly displeasing the Red Goddess, and of her heartbreak prompting the First Son of Aelurus to escape with her, the uncertainty surrounding the Union sent a short tremor of fear among the citizens. On top of the threat of a Northern invasion, they were also afraid of displeasing Aelurus itself, yet another nation they could not afford to have as an enemy. But news ran fast in Adarna, and everyone knew by sunset that the new Crown Prince of Aelurus was knocking on the Manor doors.

Lord Adrien seemed better in temperament than Lord Félix, at least.

Much to their surprise, unlike his older brother who wouldn’t have tolerated delays, the younger Aerulian Prince patiently waited for Her Highness. Compared to Félix, whose sheer presence and stony silence would’ve intimidated the most level-headed secretary to accommodate him as soon as possible, Adrien sat in the lounge, and conversed with one of the court ladies, Lady Couffaine, as they waited for the princess to finish with her affairs.

Teal eyes peeked every fifteen minutes or so outside the door, worried that the Prince might be offended.

Lady Bustier was by the door, waiting for Lady Cheng to acknowledge the Prince’s arrival. But Mari seemed to keep finding yet another document to peruse, yet another proclamation or letter she needed to modify before lunch tomorrow, before sunset today. The red-haired woman bit her lip nervously, knowing that their mistress’s dislike of Aelurians was common knowledge in the household.

“Madame?” Marinette asked, eyes still focused on the proposed skill education system, her quill darting about the paper now and then, adding notations.”Can you let them in? I’m nearly done.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Lady Bustier sighed, relieved. “Should I bring in refreshments?”

“No need.” Mari smiled widely in response. “I’d like to bring him to the kitchens tonight. You can go home after dinner, Madame.”

“Oh.” This was different. Lady Marinette would be out before midnight? That was rather unheard of. “Would we start early tomorrow then?”

“I’d like to take a break, if possible?” Mari rolled the paper and placed it in the box that was labeled ‘ _For Revision_ ’. “I’ll formally introduce Lord Adrien to the King and Queen tomorrow. Then by the next day, we might need you to transcribe our minutes with regards to revisiting, redrafting, and possible rewriting of the Union papers?“

Caline stood up more stiffly at the news. Was Lady Mari accepting a political marriage so quickly?

“Lady Mari,” She began, her voice soft. “I know that Adarna relies on you to take responsibility but you don’t need to--”

“Thank you, Madame, for worrying.” Mari shook her head, a small smile on her face as she took the ethyl-soaked sponge and wiped the ink off her hands. “But the Union is greater than the both of us. It seems that Lord Adrien is more cooperative than his older brother, don’t you think?”

Caline swallowed. Mari actually looked satisfied, despite having just made the Prince wait for at least two hours, breaking quite a number of customs involved in entertaining visiting heads of state. “Yes, Your Highness. I trust Lady Juleka would chaperone?”

“And Lord Lê would be around in my villa.” Mari nodded, now separating her loose hair into two pigtails, before entwining them to become a tight bun at the base of her neck. “The Queen would probably stay in my house tonight, as we would provide him rooms in the Royal Quarters.”

“I see.” Caline smiled at her student. “I bid you a good night. Eat well?”

“Thank you. See you tomorrow, Madame.”

As soon as Lady Bustier had announced that they were allowed to enter, Juleka stood up and dusted off her dark trousers and tightened her leather hand gloves, brushing her violet fringes with her fingers before bending at her waist.  

“Lady Couffaine,” Their her former etiquettes teacher greeted her with two fingers on the her red locks by her forehead. with a smile. “I trust you would ensure that Mari would eat?”

“Of course, Lady Bustier. However,” Juleka slyly glanced at the Prince behind her. “I think His Highness would be able to do that task just as well?”

Adrien only bowed in deference to Lady Bustier, his right hand pressed to his chest. “Good evening, Madame.”

Caline blinked. Oh, such a huge difference from Lord Félix, who would only give her a nod in acknowledgement in the hallways.

“Your Highness,” she said, tilting her head as well. “I hope your journey was alright?”

It seemed like Caline stepped on something incendiary, as she felt tension spike from all the people in the room. But then the Prince replied with a tired smile.  It was as if the tautness of the few seconds of silence didn’t happen at all. “It was rough going in parts, Madame, but it was still an enlightening trip. Though it’s my first time in Adarna, I can see that the pains of rerouting the major roads has been worth it so far.”

“I hope you enjoy your stay then, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, Lady Bustier.”

The awkward walk gave Nino the deepest sense of déjà vu.

It reminded him of the first walk the two scions took in the Aelurian Gardens, of the distance they kept from each other. Tension had brimmed from their slightest movements that any onlooker was left with no choice but to wait for the pulling thread between them to snap.

However, instead of the confident strides and bashful glances he could remember from that fond memory, only Adrien now stole glances at Mari’s back. Each gaze instantly clouded with guilt, only prompted him to look back at the ground, his frown miserable. It did not help that Adrien still looked pale and stiff, hiding his injury from everyone else.

The few other people making their way to the kitchens caught glimpses of this as well, of a young man who trailed after an impassive woman like a penitent puppy. Nino bit the inside of his cheek, already deducing from incredulous expressions the two first impressions the new match has made on the royal household: amusement, or worst, _concern_.    

Nino knew that as the replacement for Félix, the younger brother must show a stronger front. What made the Adarnians more forgiving of the intimidating older prince was that they knew he was ruthless enough to make the Northerners think twice before attacking Adarna. Still, most would hope for the probable, that a marriage between the younger pair would balance out the extremes of the older, their fears of a weaker Adrien assuaged with Marinette seemingly in charge. She had been, after all, the pride of all Ladybirds with her skill in the mythical Lucky Charm. It was something that Lady Bridgette had trouble with, despite being capable of wielding the weapon.   

“Lady Sancoeur sent Alya a message that you went with Nino and Mme. Kubdel.”

That prompted three heads to simultaneously look at Mari’s back.

“You asked to be relieved for ten days, but you didn’t tell her for why and where.” She then turned to Adrien with her crossed arms over her chest, gaze stern. “You had finished at least  three weeks earlier than your scheduled deadline for most of the proposed fiscal issues concerning the Southern Harbors, as well as the plans for construction and renovation of all roads to Adarna. So Lady Sancoeur, bless her spots, didn’t alarm anyone of your absence, and had instead prepared a statement that you were conducting a royal visit to Adarna for the Union Papers.”

At this, Adrien looked more wretched, his mouth curved downward, his hands clasped in front of him, and had he actually had them, his feline ears pressed down his head.

“Well, kitty?” Mari leaned in, eyes narrowing. “Would you like to modify the Papers with me?”

Expectant, with a shy smile, Adrien dared look at her and nodded. “Of course, my lady.”

“Good.” She took his hand and held it tightly. “I’ll have to feed you first.”

“My lady.” Adrien gulped, looking nervous as they neared the Royal Kitchens. “This dangerously seems like a date to me.”

_Dude, please, please, for once, just let her--_

“Are you complaining, _chaton_?” Nino could see how Adrien became still, as if his fingers were being squeezed in a vice.  

“But, you said--” Adrien protested, looking at their entwined hands, at her pursed mouth, and her irritated gaze. “And your parents! I haven't been formally allowed to start my courtship!”

“It’s been weeks since I’ve heard from you, Chat.” Her irritation turned to outright frustration as she closed their distance, her nose almost colliding with the prince’s chest. “Not even a single letter ever since I left Aelurus. Could you blame me if I miss--”

“Your Highness!”

Jumping, as if he had been caught, Adrien dropped Mari’s hand and placed his behind his back.

“Yuan,” Marinette greeted the guard, with a teeth-baring smile. “Good evening! How’s the meal in the kitchens?”

“It was amazing, as usual. Praise the Red Lady’s Bounty.” The bearded man greeted with an obligatory salute to his forehead, before patting his belly. “I’ve been looking for the venison steaks as was promised! But the servers said that no stag was brought in?”

Nino quickly glanced at Juleka, who stepped forward to stand almost before the footman. Kim had taken and relieved all the shifts from all the designated guards in Mari’s villa. Alya, with great foresight, had in advance procured them clothes and forged documents that indicated the inns and checkpoints they had passed during their journey through Adarna, but the spymaster refused to tell any further details and seemed to have left Nino a note of caution before she departed.

“It was too sinewy.” Lady Couffaine answered, not breaking eye contact with the guard.

“But they were good scraps of meat.” The princess said, with a dangerous glint in her eye. “I fed its pieces to the hunting dogs.”

Adrien tried not to cower at the indirect threat and widened his well-practiced smile.  

“We must be off now, good sir.” Marinette motioned for their group to move. “May you have a good evening.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

* * *

 

 

**Figure 2.3. Dupain-Cheng Manor, Two years before the Union, Scanned , c.2020.** [[1](%E2%80%9C#note1%E2%80%9D)]  
  
1Existing rough copies of the Manor blueprints are inaccurate. Based on different textual references, it is believed that the Manor had underground passages, with their hidden labyrinths renovated in every generation.

_The O.N.E Heritage Committee is dedicated to the preservation of the Seven Miraculous Ruins. According to the **International Historical Preservation Act** , excavating the remains of the old manor is considered as a non-bailable offense. It is also recorded that there had been multiple accidents of triggering self-destructi mechanisms, knowing that there are several caverns kept record of invaluable reconnaissance materials that would..._

* * *

 

The pavement expanded, giving way to the glowing building nearby the manor gates, but instead of going through the front entrance that the cobblestone path led to, Mari passed by the already open, huge receiving doors, and opted to walk about its perimeter for a while.

When the amount of people they were meeting decreased, Adrien realized that they were going through the back door. Soon enough, they came to a clean, red brick wall, and at its center, a pinewood door stood before them.

“The one you saw earlier was the Mess Hall, but this is the side entrance to the Royal Kitchens. Everyone in the grounds are required to eat in the Mess Hall, if possible,” Marinette supplied, as she opened the creaking swing door with one hand, allowing it to close on itself when they had all entered. They descended down the stairs, as she provided some explanation to her guest.  “It’s the widest and largest establishment in our manor, with thirty mess tables that can seat about three hundred men inside its hall. It’s separated in four areas, and we are currently at its rear area, the pits.”

Marinette didn’t elaborate, but Adrien could see why it was aptly named. The whole roofed courtyard was partitioned with glowing coal hearths. Halved chickens, sides of oxens, even whole pigs were roasting over the flames, the coals hissing as fat dropped over them in splatters.

Lady Juleka then approached one of the pits and talked to the person manning it about sauces and portions to be served immediately. Three boys ran to the other side of the pits in response, where Adrien could see stoves and earthenware boiling merrily with soups or stews, the air rich with coalescing spices.

“The ovens would be at the other side of the area, nearby the gate entrances.” Marinette pointed as she took a tray from a steamer, which contained a couple of pork dumplings. She motioned a young girl to take it, who nodded quickly and gave an awkward bow to him. “We offer cheap loaves and buns for the working class, and free food for the students or apprentices. We do not deny anyone free food on their table, provided that they would register and work in the kitchens or scullery as compensation during the weekends.”

“Wouldn’t it be horrible for security?”

“We are only a small people, My Lord. The only enemies our country have are the Northern pirates.” Marinette grinned, as she perused three small clear bottles filled with something purple from a rack and then wrapped them with cloth. Another girl took it from her hands and bowed. “And you cannot exactly tamper with the food when only the Royal Family can cook in here. Most of the assistants working in the pits are my cousins. The head chef is my First Uncle. My father is the Master Baker. If my time allows, I’m often seen with my mother overseeing the ovens.”

“Besides,” she added, now stacking plates and bowls from another steel rack with a boy collecting what she had handed over. “This is why Alya is considered the best. All of the people who enter the kitchens had at least been under Alya’s scrutiny. Most of the people here are her men, and they benefit from her direction”.

Adrien curiously looked over a grill, where pieces of fruit and meat were skewered on sticks.

“So, what are you doing?”

“I can’t have you eating in public yet, silly kitty.” Marinette rolled her eyes. “Whenever I needed to conduct business over dinner with foreign guests, we have a private dining room for our use. You want these?”

She then handed him a plate woven from dry leaves, one broad fresh leaf as a cover, and a pair of wooden tongs.

“Um.” He wondered what they were.

“Sweet Barbeque. Pork marinated in sweet soy, vinegar, lemon juice, mashed tomatoes, garlic, ground pepper... ” Marinette ticked off the ingredients as she gathered sliced loaves and butter, pausing in between to nudge Nino with her elbow, asking him to gather the huge pot of rice--Nino seemed to know what was going on at least, quickly swaddling the clay pot with the pieces of cloth folded nearby and picking up the pot. “Don’t stand there, stray cat. Get us three skewers each. You can take two for yourself, just in case you don’t end up liking it.”

“Get me four.” Nino grinned, both of his hands full with the pot. “I’ll even take care of your leftovers.”

Adrien glared at him, then proceeded to get three of each instead on the huge plate. He then turned to Mari, who was smiling widely at him before depositing a plate on his other hand.

“You’re familiar with our stir-fried noodles? We only cook it for special occasions around here.”  

He laughed, happy that he found something familiar. “Lady Bri taught my brother how to cook it.”

“And Bri made me taste it. It was passable.” They now trotted quickly to the wooden stairs found behind one of those swinging doors at the end of the inner courtyard. “Lord Félix avoided anything too spicy. Juleka, just ask someone to bring the tamarind stew with the milkfish bellies in it? Tell them it’s the one I made during lunch? Thank you.”

Adrien didn’t dare look at Mari or else he would kiss her senseless.     

She remembered that he didn’t really have a taste for land meat. And that he preferred sour soups and fish meals.

They went inside a cozy room with a blazing hearth at the end.  A long wooden table and their  benches formed its center, able to serve up to ten people. The items that Mari had been gathering earlier were already settled on the table, with Aelurian and Adarnian cutleries set beside each plate.There were five huge bottleneck glasses filled with colored drinks, which Mari pointed out as she settled their meals in the middle of the table. “Strawberries. Lemonade. Four Seasons. _Dalandan_. And some Coconut Juice, but we added screwpines. I hope you’ll change your mind about coconuts.”  

Adrien made a pout. “Tried drinking them--”

“--for three years, yes, but I know how you make your coconut drinks. They're bland. Mine’s better.”

Nino loosed another hacking cough.

“You know, Sir Nino, I hope you don’t choke on your food,” Mari said sweetly.

“Can we just eat in peace first?” Nino grumbled, as he took the Pink Four Seasons pitcher to settle it beside his brass cup.  “I promise we’ll leave you alone to discuss your affairs after supper.”

They took their meals in relative peace, spersed with compliments on the food. Adrien, as predicted, did love the tamarind stew. He almost hoarded the entire thing and set it in front of his plate. In exchange, he let Nino steal his portions of the barbeque and the roasted pig skins that were delicious when dipped in vinegar. Mari kept piling his plate with sauteed bitter gourd (when did she ever get that?) and glared when he opened his mouth to protest. Which was unfair, because Mari didn’t have anything that disgusting on her own plate.

Soon enough, when the dishes were nearly gone and small talk trickled to a comfortable silence, Juleka excused herself. Nino followed shortly after, offering to pay for the free food by entertaining the people in the public mess hall.

Their private room doors were still left open, but it was enough for them to converse more freely.

“The vegetables were horrible, Mari.” Adrien glowered at the green mush, before taking a quick swig of the coconut juice that was better than anything he had ever drank in his life.”Why would you make me eat that?”

“You’ve suffered blood loss, even though the volume is not that alarming.” She held her cheek with a hand, her elbow propped on the table. “It’s good for you. I have to feed my pet cat right, you know?”

“If you’re going to feed me greens, it should’ve been--”

“--broccoli. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to make it according to your preference.”

“You shouldn’t have.” He sobered, shaking his head. “I mean, you could’ve used the time to-”

“Nonsense, Chat. You’ve done the same for me in Aelurus. It’s the least thing I could do to repay the favor.” She shook her head, before giving him the jar she wrapped in cloth earlier. “Here. I want you to try this.”

“This is...?” He slowly unwrapped the warm cloth, till it revealed the jar that contained some light purple concoction.  

“Be careful, you might scald yourself. That’s dessert.” Mari then handed him a small wooden spoon, as she also got a jar for herself. “ _Ube._ ”

“What?” Adrien blinked, looked at the jar, then carefully unscrewed the lid. “I haven’t heard--”

“Winter specialty.” Mari didn’t even wait for him to taste; she dipped her spoon into the jar, took a dollop of the jam and licked, eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy.

Sweet Holy God of Destruction.

Adrien suddenly felt hungry. Even though he had basically eaten half of the dishes on the table already.

“Mmpf?” Mari opened her eyes, the bright blue glazed in pleasure. She slid the spoon out of her mouth, then scowled at him, wooden spoon pointed at him in accusation. “At least taste it! People here would strangle you for that single jar.”

“O-okay,” he sputtered, eyes diving back to the jam, the spoon almost slipping from his sweating hand. Was Ladybug testing him? Was this her punishment for the unthinking heartbreak that he gave her yesterday? Plagg’s Fang, her little pink tongue promised eternal suffering for nights to come. He took a small amount of the purple jam and nibbled.

Oh. It was good. Good. Like melt-in-your-mouth good. He scrapped the jam off the spoon with his teeth, savoring the warm sweet. Then he dipped the spoon back again, scooped a huge amount of the viscous, thick jam and put it all into his mouth.

“Wow.”

Adrien looked up in surprise and saw Mari gazing at him with dilated eyes, her lips curling to a lazy, pleased smile. He swallowed in trepidation at how the black of her eyes nearly swallowed the blues, at how they stared at him.

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you moan.“  

 _Please, please can he use Cataclysm on himself? Please._ Adrien felt the blood flood to his face and pool on his cheeks, even with the spoon still hanging from his mouth. Suddenly the room felt more hot than it already was. He could feel his back sweltering. Why was Mari doing this? She said no flirting, he reminded himself. No reaching out and kissing that piece of jam that was at the corner of her lips...

… which irrationally somehow prompted her tongue to poke out and lick.

He choked on his spit.

Coughing harshly enough that he could feel his wound, nose, and eyes burn all together in one discordant note, Adrien found himself surrounded by Marinette’s arms, her head suddenly settled on his good shoulder, her face inches from his as she inhaled his scent.

“Warm.” She hummed, a slight flush on her face. “You really like sweet things, huh?”

“Yes. Li-like jams. Chocolates. Candies. Like you.”

Mari’s smile became impish, as she withdrew from him.

“Unfortunately, you don’t get to taste the last one.” She booped his nose, then sprinted for the door. “--yet.”

Adrien cleared his throat that clogged with the tumble of his awkward words, as Marinette disappeared out of his sight.

“Get to bed early, chaton!” her voice floated back, the doors swinging close after her abrupt exit. “We have work to do tomorrow!”

“Yes, My Lady,” he managed a weak reply.

 

 

His stay at the Royal quarters, after a brief introduction to the King and Queen, was uneventful. They merely smiled, mysteriously brought up details of his private life in conversation, and welcomed him with an encouraging “ _Son_.” He briefly wondered if Félix used to sleep in the Royal Quarters with Lord Dupain during his stays in Adarna, regretting not having added that question to the letter he had sent that evening.

Adrien slept fitfully that night, and lay awake in bed even before the first ray of sunshine peeked from behind the heavy curtains.  Even though he was given his own bed in the Royal Chambers, all he could do was stare at the white ceilings and think of that dawn he had awoken to only yesterday, with her sleeping at his side, hand clutching a bullet and face stained in tears.

He rolled the small pellet about the pads of his fingers, memorizing its weight, its texture, and the stain of blood that he couldn’t completely clean off the cold metal.

Closing his eyes and deeply breathing the clean scent of soap in his sheets, Adrien rose from the bed as soon as the sun lit up the entire sky and returned the bullet to a moleskin pouch attached to his saber.

He was on the ground, searching for his breeches, when the door opened with a bang.

As swift, reflexive motion had him crouching on the floor and facing the doorway, his sheathed saber at hand and pointed at the intruder, a growl stuck at the back of his throat and legs ready to pounce.

That growl became a gasp when he saw just who it was that had trespassed in his room.

Marinette pranced in, ignorant--or perhaps, simply unworried---of the maiming she was being threatened with. Balancing a wide tray of purple buns against a hip, she deigned to look at him innocently while--

“Good morning?”

\--wearing some flowy platine ensemble, comprised of a sleeveless camisole top that skimmed her thighs and a pair of trousers. While the latter showcased the wonderful shape of her legs by how snugly it fit her, thank Plagg for His Ironic Blessings, at least she had them _on_.

He could hear Lord Dupain’s loud snoring through the walls.

Adrien swallowed his scream. _He_ was wearing nothing but his undershorts. “Urk.”

“I told you to wake up early, Chat,” Marinette admonished as she settled the tray at his bedside table---an actual desk rather than a decorative one---not even ashamed of how she walked around him wearing _that_ . “We need to discuss how to solve the bandit problem in the northern highway to Fenghuang, as well as the _real_ reason why you’re here, before we move on to the Union Papers.”

By the Claw… Oh Holy Plagg, he has been praying a lot lately.

The fact that Mari had been making him religious for the sake of his sanity was killing him. Maybe that was why the Feline Dragon decided to let him live through the ambush, to serve as hapless fodder for His Great Entertainment.

“Your father! His Majesty!” he squeaked, voice pitchy, staring at the floor and grabbing the sheets to cover himself in a quick swaddle. “Next door. _Coccinelle_!”

“His Majesty--” Marinette laughed as she dragged a chair to the desk, plunked on it, and crossed her legs. “--didn’t mind Bridgette barging into your brother’s room as long as the door was open.” She grabbed a bun and rolled her eyes, biting off a piece before offering him some with a tilt of her head to the tray. “Choco Ube swirl buns?”

“Okay,” Adrien breathed, as he dropped the blankets. “I have to get dressed first.”

“Sure.” She bent over from the chair, incidentally displaying the inset of lace that caressed her collarbones.  Adrien sucked in some air as he focused his gaze on the buns, the _literal_ fresh from the oven buns, as she picked up his trousers and handed them to him. “Here.”

Marinette, thankfully, went over what he did last night at his work table as he dressed. She perused his rough sketch of several possible roads from Aelurus to Adarna, two through the Cat Spine, which lessened the travel time from border to border to a mere one candlemark, and a more tentative one, a completely new highway that cut through the rugged southern coast of Aelurus and Adarna, connecting Faeles with the mouth of the Greater Adarnian River. The possible cost and time estimates for construction of the three roads were scrupulously detailed and partitioned into what he hoped were manageable phases. She chewed on her food thoughtfully as her gaze drifted over his math, leaving him alone to wear his pants in peace.

Then her eyes settled on one spot, he noticed, maybe on the cramped notes he kept at the margins? Should the Adarnian Delta be dredged to allow access to larger sea vessels, he had written. Pro: faster movement of goods through use of Aelurian ships. Con: opens up the Adarnian lowlands previously impenetrable from three fronts.

Adrien winced. He had wanted to broach that topic carefully with her, to weigh if they should even touch an issue that would affect Adarnian national security even more drastically than anything they had each yet proposed. He tore his eyes away to prevent himself from imagining displeasure or censure on her still form and instead focused on his toilette.

When he returned his gaze at her, she was still staring at the paper, but was noticeably red at the cheeks.

So, the realization came to him explosively, her attention wasn't at all rapt by his radical plans after all.

Through all the tortuous teasing he went through his whole stay in Adarna, this small victory gave him the courage to smirk. “Are you really here to work, My Lady? Or come to look at my famed--”

“Shut up, Chat.” She picked one steaming bun, and threw the bread at him, which he caught again in reflex.

“You just have to ask, My Lady.”

“I’m armed with tons of ammunition to throw at you right now.”

“I can eat them all off your hands if you want. I’d never waste the results of your hard work.”  

And to make his point, Adrien bit on his bread with much gusto, all the while maintaining eye contact.

Marinette scrunched her nose in disgust. “Not sexy, _chaton_.”

“Oh,” Adrien raised an eyebrow, mouth full as he chewed. “Do you want me to bite you instead?”

“Good morning, kids!” boomed the King of Adarna, who suddenly appeared at the doorway. Adrien nearly spat out his half masticated bread and jumped out of his skin as the huge man in pajamas greeted them. “I see you’ve been eating my recipe, son! How’d you like it?”

“I-I...” I really like your daughter, sir. The best meal I’ve ever seen. No. Crap. Wrong recipe. He meant the buns. The _literal_ fresh from the oven buns. Right. He swallowed, before speaking clearly. “They’re delicious, Your Majesty.”

“See? I made the whole thing from scratch for Mari!” He laughed, clamping a hand on his good shoulder; Adrien still winced as he was still shirtless. “It’s such a shame my baby girls won’t ever share their buns to their desolate father, languishing in hunger next door. Don’t you think so, son?”

“Ye-yes.” Adrien tried to catch Mari’s eye, asking for aid in the midst of a crisis. “Such a shame.”

“Good, good! A boy after my own heart.” Lord Dupain chuckled again, peering at him with a clever gaze. “I usually go and check the bakery, before going to the court. I’ll leave you for a moment to talk of important matters, then after a quick lunch, we can hear your formal appeal of courtship for my little bug.” The hulking monarch of Adarna then stood straight, towering over him easily, with a welcoming smile. “Your brother was a fine man, despite being too quiet and far too cautious for his own good. I don’t believe in second chances, but it looks like I might breathe more freely with you and Mari in charge. ”

“Papa!” Mari elbowed her father with a displeased frown. “Go away!”

“See? My little princess is already usurping my power in my own house. Such a feisty queen she’ll be.” Lord Dupain ruffled her hair with delight, much to Mari’s consternation. “Present yourselves to your mother in the office within an hour or so, young lady. We’d also like to see that fine lad, Sir Lahiffe, as well. Discuss all your legal matters as quickly possible. No hanky-pan--”

“Get out, Papa!” she squealed, fully red in the face. “We’re having a meeting!”

“Sure, if that’s what you kids call it now these days!”

When the echoing laughter in the corridors faded away, Marinette puffed her cheeks and glared at nothing, before turning her attention to him. Tapping on his sketch, her finger traced the crooked line across the mountain clumps in the middle of their countries.

“I think with our engineers we can halve the time, but we’d probably need your architects to make it safer for carriages.” She squinted when her index reached the northern bridge, where he was attacked. “Volunteer militia?”

“Our countries could take turns for patrols once the construction ends.” Adrien sat on his bed, munching on a bun again. “For now, Kim can take charge of training your new recruits.”

“Alya told me that her men are already making them sing.” Marinette slanted her face to a devious look.”I guess we need to root out this highway problem and close the investigation on this matter, before we ask approval from our councils. It’ll be easier on my end for the Treasury to agree on your suggested costs, but would your side be more open to having a more affordable toll for the road maintenance? I think in the long run, the added revenue to the crown from general increase of goods being traded and taxed would set off the costs.”

“I’ll do my best to convince my court.” Adrien reached for another bun.They were really good ones, soft and pleasant to touch, with a certain smooth taste that his mouth couldn't forget. “Hey, can I have some of those purple yams before going home?”

“I’ll ask Mama to reserve a few.” Mari laughed, before leaning back to her seat, her gaze locked on his bandaged shoulder. She flared her nose in a quick exhale, before looking at him earnestly.

“Now, what’s the real reason you’re here, Adrien?”

He paused in biting the last bit of bread, before lowering his hand.

“Please tell me you risked your life for something important.”  

“Mari,” Adrien started looking at her with a defeated sigh. “Fé sent me a letter a week ago.”

His lady stood up immediately, face resolute as she approached him. “My sister’s with him.”

“Yes.” Adrien nodded, taking out and unfolding the letter from his moleskin pouch, checking if it’s the correct one with his deciphered text before handing it to her. “She’s safe, I’ve been in contact, but he won’t disclose his location, and we can’t track it, judging from the different crows he used.”

“Crows?”

“We inherited my mother’s skill, which we’ve carefully hidden from Father.” He gave her a rueful grin. “We always had affinities to symbolic creatures of bad luck. Cats, crows, butterflies, serpents...the list goes on. We think it's amplified by Cataclysm’s powers of obliteration, but Fé had greater command of this ability than I ever did.”  

“I see.” Marinette nodded, understanding what he meant. “He can mislead any tracker by having the message passed on by different animals, or his messengers, as you put it.”

“Yes.” He gave her a sheepish smile, eyes soft. “I’m really sorry about this.”

"Chat?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"Do you think your brother..” She sighed, brows furrowed, fingers playing at the edges of the fraying parchment. “...even loves my sister?"

Silence. Mari turned her glare on him, which made him more terrified.

"...Can't you just ask me if I would shoulder all our wedding expenses?"

" _Adrien._ "

"I honestly don't know,my lady.” He looked at the window, where the little bars of cold sunlight filtered through. There wasn't much frost clinging to the frames, much to his relief, and for a few moments he could make believe it was warm outside. “Fé was quite damaged by what happened to our mother. And I don't---I didn't think he even knew how to care anymore."

"But, Bri--” Mari makes a distressed sound, crumpling the parchment in her hands. “Bri’s still with him! That can't be a small thing."

"Marinette, you know my brother is more cunning than the both of us combined. If I’m not mistaken, she's first and foremost convenient to him. At first, he only saw their relationship as something beneficial for the greater good. Arranged marriages are common, after all. ”

Adrien hated that he had to splinter that small hope that she had for her sister, and despite his determination to balance his assurances with the cold truth, he felt his resolve melt as Mari’s face slowly became more troubled. Lady Bridgette was still with Fé--he supposed that really was no small thing for someone who detested loose ends. Fé must need Bri in some profound, inexplicable manner, badly enough to throw his lot with hers outside the convenient excuse of greater responsibility. Besides, Adrien had always been a firm believer of his brother’s good intentions, despite his callous methods.

”He probably didn’t expect your sister to honestly love him, despite how many times he had hurt her,” Adrien conceded. “I think later on, he saw her as someone who would inevitably follow him to ends of the earth.”

He remembered the days when Félix would gaze at nothing, would particularly mutter to himself with a worried frown. Maybe his brother did care. Maybe his brother was happy with Bridgette. Maybe, he hoped desperately, his brother was as happy as Adrien is right now, content to be with Lady Bri, without the prolonged disruptions and mudslinging from both royal courts.  

“Félix values the passionate and unquestionable loyalty your sister unconditionally provides. Even if I don’t know his real reasons why he renounced his crown, he knew that Lady Bri would follow him. And judging by the way he suddenly left the court when he found out about her disappearance, I guess he did care." Green eyes met hers, earnest. “They found each other, after all. ”

“And Bri still stayed with him,” she said, nodding.

“My brother would never tolerate anyone else.”

"But our situation… isn’t this convenient as well?" Marinette wryly smiled. “Who knew that only months after their abdication we would be engaged for political reasons as well?”

"Ah yes.” Adrien gave her a cheshire grin. “The difference is, it’s only one of the mutual benefits we would acquire from this marriage. There are quite a lot of advantages coming with our union.”

“Such as?”

“Free food?”

“I don’t know, kitty.” Mari deadpanned, pretending to think about it as she wryly quirked her eyebrow. ”We don’t allow freeloading alley cats in our household. Can you at least catch some mice?”

“All I know is that I’ve captured a bug once.”

"And?” Her lips curved to one side, eyes half-lidded. Marinette was still playing along, but the way she positioned herself with her legs over her the other, the way she inclined her head--she was guarded. "And what do you intend to do with this bug?"

_Do you cage her? Put her to scrutiny? Tear her to pieces?_

"I'll let her fly.” Adrien shrugged with a relaxed smile. “Chasing after stubborn, spotted bugs is a rather appealing occupation for alley cats.”

“What if that proves imprudent? Chasing after bugs with plans bigger than its negligible size?"

“I think I have the energy to chase after this particular bug to the ends of earth."

“Even if it flies to a pile of rubbish?” She snorted in disbelief.

“I’d rather think she’d lead me somewhere with more food." He sniggered. “But I do believe this cat would leap into a cesspool of refuse if the bug wishes so.”

“Chat.” Marinette sighed. “Don’t.”

“It won’t come to that, Coccinelle.” Adrien took her hand, their fingers still covered in sugary glaze.

“Chat...”

“I promise that I’d keep you in my mouth for a while before---”

Only when Mari’s expression became scandalized, a keening noise of embarrassment escaping her pursed mouth, did Adrien realize what he had just said out loud.

_Great. Real smooth, Adrien._

“Uh.... What I mean is…”

“Wha-What?”

Red flooded his entire face, till it covered his neck, even giving him a pink blemish over his collarbones, as she tried to hide her face behind her hands.

“Cats like to catch bugs with their mouths right? So I thought that if I--Oh, _Plagg_ . What I want to say is I won’t let you do something that would crush you. Or hurt you. So I’d keep you in my mouth and then let you go once the danger passes and… I should shut up. _Yeah._ ”

“I think.” Marinette slowly stood up, her face bright red as his, mouth in firm line, taking the tray with her. She loomed over him, which greatly increased the effect of her severe glare. “I think should stop with the metaphors right now. Before it all gets out of hand.”

Adrien nodded quickly, ashamed. He was a mess his entire stay here, wasn’t he?

“Yes, My Lady.”

“I wouldn’t mind, though.”

“Huh--?”

His felt the swipe of her tongue on his sugar-covered lips.

“To be in your mouth.”

And, to his great agony, and the demise of his ability to concentrate for hours to days on end, Ladybug flew away in haste.  

* * *

 

 

 

 **A Copy of the Formal Inquiry** **  
** **to Court Princess Marinette Dupain-Cheng** **  
** **As Presented to the Adarnian court in Person and to the Aelurian court by Proxy:**

  

> Oyez.
> 
> Let it be known by all that His Royal Highness, Adrien of House Agreste, the Prince of Aelurus, Lord of the Southern Harbors, and Master Sabreur of the Black Dragon's Maw, formally wishes to woo Her Royal Highness, Marinette of House Dupain-Cheng, the Princess of Adarna, Chatelaine of Greater Fenghuang, and High Ladybird, with the intention to win her hand in marriage.
> 
> For as much as the Prince is enamored of the Princess for her virtues and qualities as a private person, he is cognizant of the challenges and complications inherent in both their legal identities as Heirs Presumptive. A future marriage shall impact their legacies, and more importantly, the Fate of the promised Union.
> 
> The Prince recognizes that two nations stand at the cusp of greatness----the emergence of a new mercantile order in the known world would be better navigated by a combined One. No one region could boast of the breadth and variety of products offered by the lands, waters, and peoples of Adarna and Aelurus. The melding of their existing infrastructures---Aelurus's trade networks by sea and land, Adarna's renowned guilds of artisans, inventors, and scholars, as easy examples---promises strength, stability, and longevity that is built in hard work, finely tuned organization, and equal respect for wisdom of the old and innovation of the new---not in the blind destruction of a military campaign from either that shall raze all and both of their nations. Let them Unite against common enemies by deterrence first.
> 
> Furthermore, it is written that the people of Adarna and the people of Aelurus hail from common ancestors and is widely agreed by scholars to have emerged from an ancient empire. The churches of the Dragon God and the Lady Red once worshipped as one assemblage, one that recognized the dichotomy of creation and destruction, of order and entropy, as one necessary to Life itself.
> 
> While many would find the above reasonings sufficient to claim Adrien and Marinette's Marriage as the mere unfolding of Destiny, the Prince shall take the prudent course and so demand the following conditions be met, to ensure a fortuitous Marriage and Union:
> 
>   1. A draft of a formal plan for the strategic and piecewise unification of Adarnian and Aelurian national government including and not limited to:  
>         a. creation, amendment, and execution of the laws of the realm  
>         b. judiciary rulings for matters both criminal and civil, and the appointment of regional magistracies  
>         c. rules of succession and ascendancy of the involved Royal Houses  
>         d. the structure of various sectors that run the day-to-day needs of the citizens of the Union including but not limited to public safety and order, trade and economics, travel and transport, sanitation, and public health.
> 

> 
> Hitherto to be known as the _Union Papers_ , these need to be ratified by both courts with due regard but not utter deference to precedent rulings. Due regard shall also be given in preserving the customs and traditions of the cultures involved. Both courts and the regnant head of state must be signatory to any amendments.
> 
>     2. Blessings obtained from the Temples of Plagg and the Church of Tikki.  
>       
>      3. A year of courtship, chaperoned, to foster frequent visits between both monarchs, in order to allow both the Prince and the Princess to learn about the new people and realm they shall be guiding and caring for in the near future.
> 
> The Union will usher unprecedented opportunities for all persons, from all walks of life, in both nations, to improve their status economically, socially, and spiritually. And while the Prince personally wishes to separate the matters of the heart with that of politics, Adrien of House Agreste recognizes the preeminent demand of his duty and right as the ultimate servant of the realm of Aelurus and of the Black Dragon God.
> 
> Therefore does the Prince plight his troth as a symbolic first step towards the Union.
> 
> And therefore does the Prince make this declaration to His Royal Majesty, Gabriel of House Agreste, Dread King of Aelurus and Lord Admiral of the Black Navy.
> 
> To Her Royal Majesty, Sabine of House Cheng, Queen of Adarna, Clan-Chieftain of the Yumao Cordillera, and High Ladybird.
> 
> To His Royal Majesty, Tangmu of House Dupain, King Consort to Sabine of Adarna, Clan-Chieftain of the Yumao Cordillera, Duke of Guldvoye, Knight of the Realm, and High Bread-Maker.
> 
> To the Royal Courts and the Nobility of Adarna and Aelurus.
> 
> To the Magistrates of Faeles and Fenghuang.
> 
> To the People of Adarna and the People of Aelurus.
> 
> To his beloved and dearest, the safe-keeper of his heart and the ardent star of his dreams, Marinette of Adarna.
> 
> So be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> credits: map done by [peonydee](peonydee.tumblr.com), lj entry by [mikochan_noda](lilmikomiko.tumblr.com)


	3. Spring I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pamphlet edited by [whiteplum](http://whiteplum.tumblr.com/). sigils by [sheehanmebaby](sheehanmebaby.tumblr.com) | [sharkkkat](https://www.instagram.com/sharkkkat/))

****

 

 **Figure 2.4**  Pamphlet copy, drafting volunteers from the Adarna reserves for Northern Adarnian Pass Construction (Passing from the Plume Hedges, across Cat Spine).  
  
_The road was among the several large scale projects enacted in partnership by the Adarnian and Aelurian governments, pinpointed by scholars as the first of many signs that the Union was imminent. These projects were all aimed at galvanizing trade throughout Western One Continent by speeding up transport of goods to and from the renowned ports of Aelurus for export._

* * *

 

 

 

  
  
“Is she here yet?”

Lady Sancouer did not miss a beat as she said for the twenty-eighth time, “Not yet, Your Highness.”

It ensued, the anguished pacing from one end of the room to the other. At every fifth swiveling turn, the walker would stop and twist to face her carefully. Feet would shift, as if to resume their relentless treading across the room, but would instead fully turn to her direction, to allow for its owner to ask the following questions, varied in form but ultimately demanding the same answer:

“Anything from the scouts?”

(They’ve already informed you that they are already on their way, Your Highness.)

Or

“Did Lady Kubdel send any messages?”  

(She has said they are perfectly fine, Your Highness.)

Or even worse,

“Should I go meet them instead?”

(No. Adrien. Sit down.)

Nathalie was half-tempted to check for an eroding floor---how many times had Adrien interrupted his work to pace around his office instead? He had probably paced for a total of two days, if it counted how he opted to stay at his desk yesternight to finish essentially perusing and rewriting some of the fair trade amendments. The documents still needed proofreading and verification, but they were a few steps closer to being ready for application once the Union occurs.  

Since last autumn, Adrien’s mood had taken drastic changes.

Nathalie had known that the recalcitrant First Adarnian Princess Bridgette and Crown Prince Felix were adept to rule over both countries. However, there were concerns on the powerplay between the two rulers, nuances of which were contested by two opposing councils. They should have been married and the political arrangement sealed when Lady Bridgette reached adulthood at 21 years old, but the debate between the two nations continued.

It seemed the lady wasn’t willing to wait anymore, as she ran away from everything at 23.

And now, with the current abdication debacle, with the news that both heir apparents were missing, both monarchical courts had been plunged to unprecedented turmoil.  She had worried deeply at how his older brother’s absence might incapacitate (or worse, invigorate) Adrien’s workaholic attitude.

After the Queen died, His Royal Majesty, King Gabriel, had at first, drowned himself in a deluge of work, driving himself to the bone and demanding perfection in everything in unhealthy levels. When his body grew weary with overexertion five years after his wife's death, the king was finally forced to succumb to a stationary place, to work in solitude in his offices, nearly considering retirement.  

This prompted the king to send both of his sons to manage both distant lands: Felix was given the unruly Northern lands to rule over, which he subdued ruthlessly, while Adrien was provided to stabilize the Southern Archipelagos.

Personally, she knew it was not her business to meddle in the personal affairs between the king and the two princes. Despite her position as the Royal Secretary of Appointments, Nathalie Sancoeur, first and foremost, was an Adarnian immigrant, a former low-ranking ladybird in service of Lady Sabine’s late sister. In absence of a mistress and being unable to keep her top condition with a debilitating injury to her arm, she sought out a new life in Aelurus.

Ten years of service to the Royal Household, at first as a language instructor to the sons till she became one of their longest and closest retainer in the household, Nathalie had the first hand experience of monitoring the two Agreste boys grow into their roles.

As a child, Adrien was, simply put, easygoing. He had played harmless pranks around the household and had been known to pop up unexpectedly in odd places--clinging to turrets or sunbathing on rooftops--that would have given any hapless caretaker a conniption. Felix was the quiet sort, one who’s partial to indoors, and would rather read books than be seen in company of others.

And then, the late Queen passed away. Felix was 16. Adrien was 10.

Not many realized that on that day, they lost their father as well.

Adrien became more serious and regimented, became reserved and silent, diligently finishing his education. He was determined to help his older brother, who had started to take on administrative roles.

With Adrien smiling less, Felix became more of a lone monarch that instilled dread in everyone in court. If King Gabriel was a recluse, Prince Felix was unflappable; he could not be bothered with trivial matters of the court, and unless it was a matter of critical importance, most inquiries were met with his even-toned sarcasm.

People were scared of him, which prompted each and every official or commoner to approach Adrien instead. The second prince became the unofficial liaison of the masses to both of the solitary Agreste men. He became the official face of international summits and diplomatic talks between the other four continents that surrounded their land.

This is why His Royal Highness stumped her with his inexplicable, unexpected exuberance.

With him now fully assuming all the bureaucratic work of the entire country, it should’ve had a more chilling effect, one that most aggrieved Agreste monarchs underwent: the constant haunted looks, the office shut-ins, the unbearable silences. Often, during crises, the royalty tended to incorrectly balance their welfare and workload, sometimes fleeing to hedonism, but mostly pounding tasks into their every waking moment until their bodies fell apart.

Since that fateful autumn day, however, Nathalie had yet to see Adrien not be constantly working.

Even as he continued being his normal sunny self, eating three well-balanced meals a day or initiating conversations with everyone, he hardly slacked off his work. He was actually producing more effective and efficient results. Those works, as Nathalie read them, were even better than what he had drafted before.

He wrote entire treatises. Addendums. Proposals. Budget Allocations. He wrote and made sure that every single angle of his suggestions to the council were well-accounted for, even sending along expansive appendices of background information no sane councilman had the energy to fully nitpick.

(Though they did, of course. Adrien liberally quoted from all of his writings and notes when arguing his points during council meetings or the rare days Felix called court to session.)

Though he only had three hours of sleep daily, he reserved one day of the week, usually on the Day of the Sun, for nine hours of undisturbed sleep, skipping court duty in the mornings.

And Adrien...

Adrien _daydreamed._

It was like witnessing what his mother was widely described back in her days as a young bride to an implacable Agreste and as a young mother to his sons.

Nathalie caught him often, chin on a hand propped by an elbow over a clean sheet of parchment, a contented smile on his face, eyes roaming the sky. He had apparently adopted a little black kitten with lime-green slitted eyes on his way back from his trip to Adarna that winter and had been talking to it when he was alone, telling the quiet feline about the tempestuous spring weather and the flowers blooming in the gardens---would they survive yet another windstorm? At night, she would sometimes see crumpled papers piling around his table, the prince humming or frowning, then scribbling a single sentence before making a disgusted face and throwing it to his pile, or worse, yelling in triumph and keeping it in a drawer.    

Adrien often ate buns. Buns drizzled with chocolate creme. Buns coated in melted pink-colored sugar. Buns filled with warm, mashed purple yams. He slowly ate them, savoring each bite. It would take hours before he could finish four treats.

He played with Noir, the little cat (that nobody really knew the name of. Adrien didn’t say anything), and let the kitten clamber up to his shoulders and distract him from paperwork, especially on evenings. He hummed nursery rhymes about ladybugs. He sang High Adarnian songs, in particular one of the songs she had taught him years ago, about red, gold-plumed birds dancing with black serpentine dragons over the mountains and the seas, molding the earth into oneness.

By Her Lady’s Spots, Nathalie didn’t know how one single meeting with Her Royal Highness could drastically change Adrien. It was a mystery on how deeply infatuated? Enamored? Dare she say, _in love_? the young prince was with the formidable Princess of the East.

“Isn’t she supposed to arrive about ten minutes ago?”

Broken from her reverie, Nathalie observed Adrien carefully. He wore his best royal vest, a charcoal fabric that offset its round gold buttons and emerald silk lining. His hair had grown over the months; a few wisps of gold were already brushing against his forehead, while a green silk ribbon neatly tied a little tuft at the base of his neck.  

He had always been meticulous with his appearance, but it seemed Adrien took great pains to look arresting this morning.

Nathalie raised an eyebrow, already exasperated. It was better to get this over with.

“Adrien,” she said with a tired sigh. “Calm down.”

He stopped moving, looking at her with wide green eyes.

“Please sit.” She then indicated the cushion beside her. “Breathe.”

Adrien complied, treading anxiously to where she indicated. He lowered himself to his seat and pursed his lips, shaping his breath into secret sighs, their gentle cadence fooling him into a calm he didn't feel.    
  
“Her Highness is delayed because she went through the _proper_ channels this time,” Nathalie stressed, which exacted a little squirm from the usually composed prince. “Not only that, if I’m not mistaken, she had gone to her Menarcheal Pilgrimage before coming here.”

“How’d you--”

“And that means, she has to also stop and gather the flowers she’d wear to meet you, Lord Adrien. It takes time, several hours even, for a newly engaged royal to deliberate on her choices of wear in greeting you.”

“What?”

“It’s an Adarnian custom. Once the prospect of marriage comes to an Adarnian noblewoman, she must wear flowers throughout the courtship. Multiple suitors can deduce her answer from the flowers she wears.”

“I-” Green eyes were large, amazed. “I never knew that, Nathalie.”

“I think it’s beneficial to learn Adarnian floriography, Your Highness. Granted that Royal Ladybirds and their corresponding spymasters have developed their own floral ciphers and the other regions have nuances in colors and sizes, but to learn the basics is best.” She responded seriously, her spectacles glinting against the morning sunlight. “If you want to win the affections of an Adarnian woman, it is best that you speak in her language.”

“It is advantageous.” Adrien grinned; it reminded her of the young boy who often conned Prince Felix out of his rooms for a day outside the Citadel. “I might be able to determine her favorite, after all.”

“Determine her favorite?” Nathalie furrowed her brows. “Is this the reason we have flowers in every part of the castle and have half of the staff suffering pollen allergies, Your Highness?”

“I did not fill the entire castle with flowers. Only part of her wing, Nathalie,” Adrien argued. “And the only one who suffered hay fever was Sir Ramier.”

“And you, Your Highness.”

“That’s not the point, Nathalie.” Adrien waved it off impatiently with his smile stretching to his cheeks. “I mean, if I use some flowery language to win Mari’s---”

“Your Highness, mellifluous prose will not earn you approval in her books.”

“No, no, no, that was a _brilliant_ pun, Nathalie.”

“Lord Adrien, even if Adarna is on the losing side should they ever decide to break up your engagement, I think she would rather live in the monasteries than be inundated by your puns.”  When green eyes slanted to a devious, feline squint, she abruptly added, having been subjected to his mischiefs before, “Neither will pick-up lines work, Your Highness.”

“You haven’t heard them. Nathalie! They were brilliant!”

“Sir Lahiffe should stop bringing you to the taverns, Your Highness.”

“But--”

Two knocks stopped him, as his royal guard, a huge, scowling knight that earned the name Gorilla, entered with a bow.

“Your Highness, Princess Dupain-Cheng and her entourage have arrived.”

The semblance of poise he had gotten from the relaxed conversion dimmed somewhat, as his smile became strained.

“Expect her to wear blooming pink magnolias, Your Highness.” Nathalie gave a small smile in reassurance, her index finger fixing the glasses on the bridge of her nose. “It means, ‘ _I’m certain_ ’, while pink signifies joy.”

 

 

The herald announced her name and she emerged in a vision of pink.

Like all the ladies in the Adarnian court, she wore her hair up in a bun, with soft curling tendrils framing the curve of her chin. The flowing pink chiffon overlays of her dress stilled as her steps halted upon entering the receiving hall, her long sleeves sweeping the floor as her hands settled at her hips, arms akimbo. The motion emphasized the golden paillettes on her shoulders and at her waist, feather-shaped engravings that mirrored the plumage of their sigil. Three magnolia buds, their petals on the cusp of blooming, were woven in between her raven braids, her floral message crowning her hair.

 _I am certain_ , her presence declared to him. _I am joyful._

Adrien felt his heart burst at the sight. He came forward to meet her even before she could speak.

He wanted to take her hand and bestow it a kiss, but that flash of warmth and sweetness he had once tasted on a chilly winter morning came to the forefront of his mind.

Adrien kept a few steps away from her, a hand on his left chest, and bowed from his waist cordially.

“My lady.”

Clear blue eyes framed by kohl-painted eyelashes gazed at him, searching, silent for a few seconds. Her lips straightened from the half-smile he was waiting to see unfurl, then she nodded, briskly walking to his side.  

“Lord Agreste.” Her words were clipped, her hands in front of her, back straight. “I trust that we can start talking about your proposed amendments to the fair trade documents.”

“Yes, right away.” Adrien was surprised at the mood whiplash. Nevertheless, he complied with her wishes. He moved in quick, long strides, guiding her to his office. He felt Nathalie’s presence materialize beside him as well, much to his relief. “How was your pilgrimage?”

“It was uneventful.” But the almost breaking of her stern mouth to a smile told him otherwise. Her sweet scent still wafted before him, as she trailed behind him. “I’ve been told to present you to the Goddess before the end of the Moon Equinox.”

“I’ll be there, My Lady.” He inclined his head to Nathalie, entrusting her to make time for him during mid-autumn. “I might soon introduce you to our temples as well.”

Lady Bustier lowered her head and said something to Mari’s ear.  

“I was informed from Lady Sancoeur’s missive,” her tone was easy, but it felt like he was about to step into a spiked snare, “that I was prepared an itinerary of my week-long stay in Faeles?”

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to supersede anything you have planned in your visit.” He quickly amended, the double doors to his office opening to reveal a table filled with towers of paperwork and curling scrolls. “I’ve made a grave mistake and assumed from your letters that you would like to familiarize yourself to the Aelurian court and I--”

“No, Your Highness. You are correct in your assumption. I meant that there is more free time given to me than I expected, considering the amount of work we have before us...” Marinette gave him an assuring smile, before it turned into something shrewd. “Are you belittling my endurance in tackling these pressing matters? Or are mollifying me so you can do something behind my back once my guard drops?”

“I’m not, My Lady. I swear to you I was just--!” Adrien gesticulated his hands to placate her, trying to make sure  he didn’t offend her any further. ”Those are the times Lady Bourgeois would assist and confer with you about court conventions. She is more familiar with them, much more than I will ever be, and I want to provide the best. I’m sure Mme. Césaire would’ve been more than enough in that aspect, but it would be nice to have someone who is truly familiar with the internal ongoings and is steeped in the culture of--”

He halted, and then pursed his lips, when he saw her face quivering, saw her try to suppress her giggles.

“Are you teasing me?”

“Oh yes, _chaton_ .” Marinette took a seat beside the ‘ _For Verification_ ’ piles nearby his desk. She waited for him to take his seat, and they proceeded to take a paper each. Lady Bustier slid a couple of papers on Adrien’s side, while Lady Sancoeur provided Marinette a set of ink and quill, with new sheaves of parchment. “I know you never mean any harm. No worries, I shall see your childhood friend tomorrow morning.”

“Do we need to revise the timetable, then?”

“Yes. _Your_ timetable. I want you to take your rest, Adrien, while I educate myself on your court,” Mari suggested, before turning to Nathalie with a knowing gaze. “Half-days.”

“But you’re studying while I’m--”

“The lessons with the Duchess would only last about an hour before our meetings. Don’t think I didn't know you weren’t sleeping,” she pointed out with a frown. “Besides, I’m here so we could slough off all the constitutional quandary _together_.”

“Then, I’ll take an additional hour before your lessons as well.” He looked at Nathalie sideways, hoping that his assistant would take the hint. “I am also required to take...classes.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow, tapping a quill. “Are you just humoring me?”

“I’m afraid that he is saying the truth, Your Highness.” Nathalie spoke up, face unreadable. “I will vouch for these thirty minute lessons, and I assure you that I’ll  inform you every time he decides to escape early from his scheduled power naps.”

“Nathalie!” Adrien whined, a hand on his face. She’d been the one who’s been tattletaling on Mari this whole time? First, his best friend, now his secretary? He just couldn't trust anyone these days.

“Thank you. For now.” She ran her fingers over the draft, looking for text in red ink. “There are some things in these amendments that I would like to clarify before I can approve this agreement. Like in this particular part, I think it is better if we focus more on the sustainability of these livelihood projects in smaller scales rather than settling for a multi-pronged but slapdash approach.”

“I knew you would go over that first.” He sighed in defeat.

 

  
There was a certain unrelenting ugliness about the Citadel, Mari decided, that no amount of gilding or tapestry could hide. That, she figured, was why she couldn't draw inspiration from anything in her otherwise tastefully decorated chambers.

Just the bed alone made it fit for a king, with the sheets sinfully decadent and the mattress hitting the right balance between softness and support. It seemed a room unto itself, what with the imposing bed frame of heavy hardwood and the thick brocade canopy that no doubt kept the heat in during colder months. Mari tried to sink in the bed, curtains closed, hoping the comfort and darkness would lull her to sleep but still she remained awake.

She gave up after an hour of tossing and took out her sewing kit. She lit every lamp she could find in the room, stared at the dresses she had labored over specifically for this trip, and allowed her mind to drift.

Adrien’s ridiculous bad luck to run into bandits aside, Mari had to admit his impulse to visit her in the thickness of winter had granted him something neither of them were likely to have in any of their subsequent visits to each other: leisure. Lady Nathalie went over the rather rigid schedule of the official visit with Mari and Lady Bustier. At first, Mari was gratified by all the blocks of time afforded to their work on the Union papers. She soon realized, however, that while she was granted her request for Adrien to have half-days off work during her visit, the rest of the day wasn't theirs to spend. True to his declaration of intent letter, Mari's visit was structured as a crash course on Aelurian culture – which was fine, but Mari wondered how much weaving and embroidery classes would actually help her rule this land one day.

“Lord Agreste mentioned you take pleasure in designing your own gowns,” Nathalie said with a hint of apology in her tone. “Perhaps a common point of interest shall help break the ice.”

Mari understood that the expatriate Adarnian was simply helping her former princess in her own way, setting up opportunities to establish bonds among powerful people in the Aelurian nobility. An infuriating… distrust of women with power was one of the things Aelurus was notorious for, though the capital was said to be more progressive in that matter. Of course, Mari wasn't planning on alienating anyone in her future husband's court without at least attempting to ease them to the idea of a hands-on queen. Daughters, wives, sisters, and mothers shall relate to their relatives her views and, she hoped, her competence.

Still, Nathalie had ended their brief meeting with an oddly-phrased warning.

"Lady Chloe is prickly at the best of times," the appointments secretary said. "At her worst, she's a bit indiscriminate when unleashing her venom.”

A little like me then, Mari had thought, even as she assured Nathalie that she would be prudent. Chloe was a sitting member of the Aelurian court, a marchioness who seemed to be actively using her influence as designed. Her father served as the prime minister, in essence, representing the court to the regent and vice versa, and had long served as a close advisor to King Gabriel. A rare Aelurian woman in power, she was in the position to be the Union’s biggest ally or its worst enemy.

She was also Adrien's oldest friend, one he has had since childhood. Any friend of Adrien had to be at least as kind as he was, she reasoned. She would no doubt regale Mari of stories about Adrien's boyhood, even if she didn't actually have as much influence in court as the rumors made it seem like.

As it turned out, however, Lady Chloe of House Bourgeois, Marchioness Playa de Am, was everything Mari expected from an Aelurian noble.

 

They were scheduled to meet at the Room of Ancestry, which functioned as an antechamber to the formal throne room of the Citadel. Mari had been there only in passing, having been whisked away by her skittish tour guide during her last visit, she supposed in favor of the more floral parts of the keep. She remembered the layout of the Citadel enough to convince Lady Bustier to leave her to her own devices and instead proofread the seven documents she and Adrien had drafted after her arrival, the results of four hours of chatter fueled by their excitement of working together face-to-face once more and another two hours of  more sedate, independent writing after they supped together with her retinue. Quite comfortable with wandering the halls, she merely verified the direction of the throne room with a helpful guard and declined any escort.

Before the massive doors of the throne room was a figure so still that Marinette at first mistook her for a statue. (Dressing statues was a common enough practice in northeastern Adarna; icons of the Lady Red were lovingly draped with the best handiworks of the village tailors and seamstresses, bedecked by flowers or rare metals, depending on how far they were into the cordillera.) The woman wore the full regalia of high courtwear that was currently fashionable in Faeles. The jonquil gown was stunning---the deeper yellow silk of the petticoat peeked through asymmetrical cuts on the outer skirt, while insets of lavender lace connected pieces of the skirt together as an interlocking puzzle of colors. The bodice was of the same rich brocade of the outer skirt, though the five-petaled violets of the Bourgeois sigil came with clusters of purple crystals. More of the lavender lace adorned the deeply-cut square neckline, and instead of full sleeves, bolts of sheer yellow cloth draped from a pair of amethyst brooches on each shoulder, leaving the lady’s motionless arms bare. Blonde hair, as fair as Adrien’s, was pulled through the high headwear to cascade behind the lady’s back.

It was a busy dress for sure, too heavy for such a static pose to reveal its true marvel. Mari rushed to the woman, unable to squelch her squeal of delight when the woman abruptly stepped back at her approach. The gown moved exactly as she imagined it! And the workmanship was even finer up close and not from across a grand hall.

“The teal pattern running around the hemline,” Mari exclaimed as she approached. “They move like rolling waves when you swish your skirts! And the colored crystals incorporated in the brocade---those are mined from southern Yumao, aren’t they? The luster and clarity is unmistakable, even in such a busy setting.”

The lady’s pinched expression did not change nor did the stiff way she held her neck and chin soften. Mari shook away her bemusement and stopped her hand from touching the woman’s bodice.

“I apologize for being so forward,” Mari said. “But I rarely see shuttle-woven fabrics at home with such flexibility. My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I automatically assumed you’re Lady Ch---”

“Walk with me, Marinette of Adarna,” came the sudden pronouncement.

“All right,” Marinette said, after dismissing ten other retorts that sprung to her mind.

The lady spun on her heels, far quicker than Mari expected. She just avoided being batted by the hair and headpiece ensemble. Chloe---Mari deduced it was her from the direction they were heading---led the way to the Room of Ancestry. Mari nearly ran into the marchioness when she halted before the door, nodding imperiously at the guard to open it.

The room’s walls were lined with portraits from end to end, ceiling to floor, some more yellowed with age, some more faded by light, but there was a certain monotony in the style and subject of each. All portrayed the coldly beautiful features of the Agreste family---fair hair, light eyes, chiseled facial bones that made for pugnacious chins and haughty cheekbones. All of them seemed clothed in black or gray, finery often limited to a thick circlet or neck chain of platinum or white gold. They each carried bejeweled lanterns on their left hands, the seeming sole source of lighting in the painting, while their right hands pointed to some mysterious place behind the viewer’s back. It made for the dullest and gloomiest museum in the world.

Chloe stopped at a particularly imposing picture, a wizened gentleman whose stormy gray eyes were nearly swallowed by finger-thick eyebrows. Mari expected barnacles to sprout from the copper frame.

“Tigris Typhon of the Feral Wastes, Duke North Cairn,” Chloe said. “A thousand years ago, he reunited the four duchies of Eastern One Continent by sword and fire. Legends have it, he called forth the most powerful winds of the Stormbringer Himself. Every dock and port were swept clean at his command, each one along the Aelurian coast, from the bay of the Cat’s Claw to its Tail.”

Mari was familiar enough with the tale. It was said Adarna itself had been part of the empire that once united the entire mainland of the One continent, one that flourished to its peak uncounted millennia ago and slowly eroded in time into smaller nations, territories, and even no-man’s-lands. Adarna had been protected by the cordilleras that bordered her, was not taken up by the ensuing struggle for power, and became a bit of a safehouse for peoples with equal disinterest for bloodshed.

“Desperate times called for desperate measures, they say,” Chloe continued. “Under Tigris, the beginnings of the legendary black sails arose. As a single unified force that was commanded by a brilliant central brain, the navy thwarted year after year the raiding parties of the Northern Peninsulars. The only remaining weak point had been a flap of land---now nominally under the ministry of Adarna, when remembered that is---through which the pirates honed their amphibious skills, over time wearing down the Duchy of the Feral Waste itself into the ragtag wandering bands of modern Northern Aelurus.”

Mari stilled, heat threatening to creep up her neck. Was the woman somehow insinuating that the diminishment of some ancient house from a thousand years ago somehow _her_ ancestors’ fault, some sin of omission and inaction? She ruthlessly stifled her initial instinct to defend her people. If anything, that Adarnian piece of territory had been collateral damage for centuries, the happenstance path of those Northern pirates on their way to needle the Aelurians in their quest for domination! How dare this woman suggest Adarna was some sort of weakness, a stray’s back door that let wild beasts in indiscriminately, when Adarna had been quietly waging her own battles, too, a country comprised of simple folks who lived off the earth without fleets of galleons and cannons and amassed armies that were trained and paid solely for combat?

Chloe might have noticed her companion’s sudden stillness as she sauntered on to the next portrait.

 Mari’s furious thoughts were momentarily knocked from her attention. The aged portrait before her was strikingly familiar--vivid green eyes subdued by candlelight and darkness into the teal of the sun-touched sea, the sun-spun gold of hair, the determined set of the delicate jaw she had practically memorized, could easily call forth in her mind’s eye…

It could easily be Adrien Agreste as a woman.

“Is she... Adrien’s?”

“The Dead Queen?” Chloe supplied. “No, but it is an easy mistake to make, as you shall see when we look at contemporary paintings.”

Chloe related the tale of Princess Sucrose. Princess Sucrose was the only daughter of the Duke of Faeles, Tigris’s fiercest ally. Tigris himself had no remaining children in his campaign for Aelurus, only a grandson born out of wedlock to some hired swordswoman. (Mari held her mouth and counted to ten. Legends held said grandson as the child of a High Ladybird.) Lord Typhon married his grandson to Princess Sucrose and took both under his wing, formally moving the center of power from Northern Aelurus to the impregnable Citadel of Duke Faeles in the south.

“Can you imagine the hyenas waiting with bated breath for the old sea dog to die? Waiting for Aelurus to fly apart like a spring? But it didn’t. House Agreste rose to the challenge, gifting son after son to the tempest, strengthening the navy by sea and building networks of roads by land, ensuring they shall never again be caught unawares by the Northern amphibians.

“And now here we are, another upstart princess come to marry into the power gifted by the Black Dragon himself. Do you understand why I took the time to explain all this to you, Marinette of Adarna?”

Yet again, Mari was hard-pressed not to respond sharply to the arrogant noblewoman. Of course, she knew what she was marrying into. Of course, she knew what iron went into the fist of the one who ruled over the over-militarized nobility of Dread Aelurus. She was not some sheltered piece of sweetmeat to be offered to placate some ferocious animal. She was neither defenseless nor ignorant!

“Do you know why I tell you this?” Chloe demanded once more. “Because, Marinette of Adarna, if I weren’t Adrien’s best and oldest friend, _your_ transgressions will not be forgiven so easily.”

Transgressions? She did nothing that warranted the rude treatment she was getting! Marinette had been friendly to her from the start, treating her the way she would any of Adrien’s friends. She honestly didn't expect Adrien’s oldest friend to be some stick in the mud, stuck-up woman who----

Marinette’s retort died in her throat.

The infuriating woman was technically correct. Mari had indeed broken several protocols on meeting and socializing with an Aelurian noblewoman, particularly with a marchioness. Because Adarna had not formally acknowledged her older sister’s, Bridgette’s, renouncement of her ascendency (because she technically had not done so in writing and the court by unanimous agreement didn’t want to be forced to banish her from the realm for her abandonment). As such, Mari was a mere princess of House Dupain-Cheng, not yet elevated to reign over the land, never mind that she has been referred to as such by legal documents from both countries throughout the negotiation of the bethrotral. And as such, according to international protocols of diplomacy that Aelurian nobles practically teethed on, Chloe outranked her.

“I-I shall be more cognizant of the appropriate protocols, Lady Chloe,” Marinette grounded out. “I shall never again assume certain precedents apply.”

Chloe flushed briefly. Of course, she had heard of Adrien’s own breaches of protocol, relating to his treatment of his intended before and after they even agreed to consider the engagement---the entire household was aflame with titters over the smitten prince, but Chloe would dare not mention or allude to gossip from servants, especially not when it might embarrass her liege lord.

“I already had Bustier’s book of protocol sent to your rooms, Princess,” Chloe said, as if ‘princess’ was somehow the most delicious insult in the planet. “It is the most recent and paramount of all such manual of instruction.”

“Perfect,” Mari said. “And I have Lady Bustier in my staff---and by lucky happenstance, my entourage.”

“Perhaps, next time you shall have her present as one of your escorts, then?”

“Again. I will be more prudent.”

Chloe nodded. “I understand you sew.”

Mari smiled through her teeth, irritated by the sudden change of topic. “I do, Lady Chloe.”

“Do you weave?”

“I have never had the occasion to learn a very involved craft, my lady.”

“Then it is evident, my Lady Marinette, that you do not know the importance of certain deeply-sown customs in Faeles.”

“Of course, I do not. Isn’t that why my lady has taken pains and precious hours from her days to condescend to tutor me?”

“Do not be pert. The women of Aelurus may be unable to flamboyantly participate in statesmanship. They might not be able to represent their families in the navy or the highway patrols. No, my lady. Your breeding and education shall need to be well above reproach or the other families shall spit upon your---nay, Adrien’s!--name. I shall not suffer my bosom friend so debased by mere association to you.”

“I shall commit myself to study and be well-above reproach, Lady Chloe.”

“And do something about your mode of dress, Lady Marinette. There is no need for extreme pretenses to modesty---we are modern women in Faeles and shall not make assumptions based on the amount of skin you show. Really, what is all this extra fabric? Why is your womanly form concealed beneath all these flowy drapes? Are you a virgin about to be offered to the God of Storms? For rot’s sake, do not tempt the Agreste rivals into tying you to the nearest mast and sailing you straight into the Rocks of Plagg!”

 

Mari howled as the needle jabbed her thumb, forcibly returning her to the present. The memory smarted even more than her most recent injury, prompting her to bite her palm in an effort to not scream at the absent marchioness. It had taken all her knowledge in meditation to not challenge Chloe to a duel right there and then---no doubt, it would have been another appalling breach of international protocol.

She glared at the lightening horizon through her window and then at the dwindling candle nearest her. Two candlemarks had worn down since she started her diversionary chore. Instead of the few simple flourishes she had planned on embroidering to a pair of sleeves or a collar, her favorite gown lay gutted over her desk, the same gown she had been most proud of and excited to parade before a certain tom cat. Mari would have been in tears, if not for her pride. She was going to remake the gown exactly as it was before, damn her, let her be a virgin sacrifice to one sunshine prince! And she was going to stop inventing the most colorful insults about everything that happened to catch her eye in Faeles. She was going to stop replaying in her mind every little rebuttal she had failed to deliver, shut up that Lady Chloe good even if it was just in her imagination.

Lady Red help her, she was going to survive this visit without killing anyone.

  


 

 

If there was anything Chloe Bourgeois was sure of in life, it was her position in the world. As a child, she had gotten used to her wants being fulfilled to each exacting detail she specified. As she grew older, her needs evolved to more abstract, less deliverable items. Neither her shrillest cries nor her most violent threats of self-starvation could ensure her things that could not be bought by gold.

Power was an unwieldy animal, but it was one that came in a multitude of forms, a multiplicity Chloe learned to appreciate as she learned to manipulate each variation. Her father’s dedicated mission in life to make her happy was only trumped by one thing: satisfy the king.

The king, even one like the Dread Agreste, still operated under certain rules. He was swayed by the whims of the court and the court, while dominated by the austere swagger of sea-whipped, winter-carved men, was not beyond the influence of the womenfolk.

No. The influx of power in day rooms and garden sets, the idle chittering amidst the clink of fine china and the click of shuttle-cocks, were in some ways more insidious and ruthless than the maneuverings at court.

Chloe could draw the constellations of summer and winter from memory if called upon. She could pinpoint every harbor and port of importance throughout the coasts of Aelurus and recite the major goods exchanged in each and with which nations. She could weigh one countess against one princess, taking their heritage to consideration, the worth of entailed lands and properties, the businesses and other sources of income the current generations were building. Now, reputation was a different matter.

She dealt with reputation as bankers dealt with coins.

Now the pale tart from barbarous Adarna… Truth be told, Chloe was at a bit of a dilemma on what to do about her. Never mind Papa’s insistent, almost pleading request to not antagonize the chit, Chloe couldn't decide whether to help her gain footing in the Faeles social circle or immediately block her attempts this early.

Her warning to the little nothing of a woman was all truth, however: had she not been Adrien’s closest and oldest friend, the princess’s faux pas would not have been tolerated with kindness at all. Word of her lack of decorum, her ignorance, would have spread from the citadel like wildfire in the northern peat bogs in high summer.

"I hope the opportunities of the day hold merit to the lady," the woman was saying, polite but rather lacking a certain zest that would have made the sentiment believable.  
  
Chloe let the matter slide, nodding her head graciously at the ritualistic greeting. It seemed the pompous tart did heed her words from yesterday. For one thing, Marinette of Adarna came properly escorted by her international relations advisor, Lady Bustier, the very person who authored the standard protocol on diplomatic decorum, and by the palace guards assigned to her retinue.

Even her attire was an outright improvement, minus the flower she had clumsily tucked into her bun, some pink and white trumpet-like thing that should be improved by a pearl or amethyst arrangement. The repeating pattern of pink and white orchids on a carnation background turned out to be embroidered on closer inspection. The dress was simply cut, with a wide, rounded neckline that exposed the tips of her freckled shoulders. The close-fitting bodice was of the same pattern as the skirt, a translucent cloth overlaid over silk. The entire ensemble somehow flirted the line of decency with boldness of color and the sheerness of the material. Neither did Chloe miss the flesh-colored bandages surreptitiously wrapped around the princess’s fingers. The woman had steel in her spine, Chloe would give her that.

“You look a bit peaky, Lady Marinette,” Chloe said. “Late night?”

“Yes,” Marinette said, “but not any later than my previous two nights working with the prince---or any of my usual nights at home, for that matter. As you well know, preparing for the Union has occupied many of us, consuming most time leftover from our regular duties. My lord, most of all.”

Chloe merely smiled, injecting a hint of chill in her expression. How dare the tart bandy Adrien about as if he was already married to her!

“I suppose it is his lot in life to be the most elevated man in the continent---and the most burdened,” Chloe finally said.

“I noticed that,” Marinette said. “Aelurus is much more centralized than other people believe. Most decisions go up to the Regent for his approval, even if the signature comes retroactively. That would need to somehow change.”

“I suppose he’ll have you in the future to assist him.”

“We will both need more than one assistant, for sure.”

Before Chloe could open her mouth for a more pointed hint on how majority of Aelurus viewed the notion of a joint crown, a bespectacled woman arrived, followed by two maids carrying picnic baskets. As usual, Lady Sabrina’s timing was questionable.

“This is my lady-in-waiting,” Chloe introduced her. “Viscountess Sabrina of House Raincomprix. Her father serves as the Captain of the Royal Guards in the Citadel, among other functions.”

The two women exchanged greetings, even as Sabrina raised a questioning look at Chloe over the introduction. Chloe glared at her to discourage questions. They had already gone over this ad nauseam; as Sabrina was going to oversee the weaving lessons, it would be better if the upstart thought Sabrina was essentially mere attendant  to Chloe and not her close confidante. Marinette did not seem to notice the wordless exchange, seemingly lost in thought, and so Chloe said nothing else as they made their way to the Citadel’s exclusive dock. As far as sailing went around the island city, it would no doubt be choppy with the usual influx of warring currents from all over the Cat’s Maw. It would be interesting to see if the Adarnian had a stomach of steel as well, particularly since she made it so obvious she barely slept last night, perhaps worrying over Chloe’s approval. The chit was learning.

Once they were onboard, Chloe asked the Princess to walk with her, leaving Sabrina on the deck to oversee breakfast with the rest of the Adarnian party. Chloe brought Marinette to the bow of the ship, where Chloe could best point out pertinent features of the coastline, as well as provide them privacy in case she had to resort to more direct threats in order to make the princess understand her position.

“Weaving is an important cultural treasure in Aelurus,” Chloe began. “Why do you think would I preface your lessons in weaving with a boat ride around Faeles when I could be showing you the looms or the most impressive tapestries in the Citadel’s collection?”

“It has to do with the intertwined history of weaving and sailing in Aelurus, Lady Chloe,” Marinette said. “Aelurus is as famous for her woven goods as she is for her armadas. While their husbands and fathers are across the globe, aboard their merchant or warships, the womenfolk weave as they abide their return, spinning tales from their previous adventures on to the fabric they create.”

“Impressive. Her ladyship did her due diligence for this trip.”

“I will continue to do so, in preparation for my future responsibilities.”

The comment set Chloe’s teeth on the edge. Did the woman revel in reminding Chloe that she would be forced to bow down to her at some point in the near future? Chloe had never seen Adrien as adamant as he was about the arranged marriage. Of course, she knew the match would be final, whatever certain elements of the Aelurian court thought it could do to dissuade him. They didn't know how stubborn Adrien could get.

“Which is why I deeply appreciate your guidance, Lady Chloe.”

Chloe ignored the platitude. “When Adrien was fourteen years old, he was sent to observe the campaign of the Southern Harbors. The war had grinded down to a stalemate the past five years---more from a universal lack of interest in expanding Aelurian-controlled holdings than fierce last stands from the native populace.”

“By next year, he was given full command of the campaign,” Marinette continued where Chloe left off. “A good half of the navy and all of Aelurian off shore territory was being overseen by a fifteen year-old boy. Adrien has had a very busy short life.”

“May I remind you, my lady, that you’re not in the position to disapprove?”

Mari merely shook her head. “I’ve been following the Southern Harbors campaign from the start. It's why I've never underestimated Prince Adrien, unlike his rumored detractors.”

“Nobody really cared for the Southern Harbors," Chloe said impatiently. "The idea of conquering the five southern island groups, and eventually the southern peninsula itself, was something started by the predecessor of King Gabriel."  
  
The Southern Harbors campaign was aptly named; it was ultimately all Aelurus cared for, safe ports for her merchant vessels. The military costs were one thing, but the rebuilding of government infrastructure in the conquered lands, or even jacking what previously existed, proved to be a nightmare.  
  
For every principality or territory they had annexed, Adrien called a panel of experts to discover: 1) what the kingdom needed from them, 2) what the kingdom could give in exchange or if necessary could use as leverage, 3) how likely was it for things to fly apart once the Aelurian navy pulled out. Trade and diplomatic agreements were written in earnest, mostly by Adrien himself. He traveled himself to the problematic areas the panels pinpointed, he conferred with the hereditary and former leaders, with elders and church leaders, and whoever else he thought could give him a clear, concise, if quick picture of the local situation before and after the black ships came. Adrien had an odd nose for pinpointing the most influential figures in a given setting and had no qualms using them to negotiate what he wanted.

Adrien did the same for the lands they had yet to conquer with good results. His envoys were met. Treaties were drafted and signed. Nobody wanted the black ships of Aelurus with their canons out in their waters.  
  
"Adrien had to talk very fast in order to convince the court and the nobility to relinquish claim on those southern territories," Chloe continued. "He illustrated how draining it would have been on Aelurus to minister to those lands--"  
  
"--when shrewd diplomacy could accomplish similar things without acquiring the moral responsibility of taking care of yet more peoples his government was clearly not equipped to," Marinette interrupted. "I read the pamphlets. He very clearly delineated moral and practical reasons on why the campaign needed to change direction. How so ever the Aelurian public and nobility interpreted that to mean that he somehow thought less of those peoples---"  
  
"It's all semantics, Marinette of Adarna. The fact is, Adrien saved the realm from decades of costly babysitting. Isn't it curious he's suddenly changing policies?"  
  
"He shan't need to babysit Adarna," Marinette said coldly. “And as you say, it's all wordplay. The fact is, as Aelurus started expanding to the southern islands for more land and more market for your goods, the Northern peninsulars started ripping at your flanks, burning villages and towns at their wake, kidnapping women and children. It's how they’ve made war for thousands of years. Uniting Adarna and Aelurus will give both nations what they need---a greater, more varied, and more unique collection of goods and services to trade with across all five continents, a well-built bureaucracy to allow for more specialized functions and higher efficiency in developing all sectors of the combined realms, and most of all, a larger population from whence to call to arms---if need be.”

“Who are you quoting from?”

“Adrien Agreste’s private letters to me. We talk, you know. We know what we need to do. We will protect our people’s interest.”

“You will send Aelurian blood and gold to watery or wintry graves then. And once our nobility fights itself extinct, your famous bureaucracy would take over, is that right? Let's hope your people learn a thing or two about fighting. By then the Northern Peninsulars might have decided to put their differences aside and march on the rest of the continent as a Unified Three. Where will your pacifist Union be?”

“Just because we don't pick fights doesn't mean we cannot, Lady Chloe. And if need be, I will be Adrien’s teeth. If I have to, I will ground his enemies to dust. You don't have to tell me how rare a person he is. I will protect him--all of him!---so he can do what needs to be done without burning his own beliefs and values as sacrifice to your God of Mischief.”

“No one trusts you,” Chloe said bluntly as she met the black iced glare of the Adarnian tart. “I understand you've been ruling in Adarna for as long as the Prince has been here. You know palace intrigues, but you don't know them as they are in Faeles. You’ve only reached the tip of the iceberg and yet you are so pert.”

“Then school me, Lady Chloe. Do your worst. As I said, I am willing a student.”

“It is implied that you have bewitched our Prince with love potions from your Goddess of Creation.”

The insufferable woman snorted.

“It is said you manipulated Lady Bridgette, so her harlot urges could overpower her good sense, leading her to abdicate so you can gain power.”

“My sister is not a harlot.”

Chloe shrugged. “Perhaps, she has use of the same potions; Lord Felix is also gone.”

“Th-They've probably gotten tired of being forced to marry each other!”

“Surely, you don't believe they're not together as we speak?”

Marinette said nothing.

“Adarna is an orderly, idyllic place, isn't it, Lady Marinette? You’re universally adored as the handmaiden of your spotted goddess. Your people have been coddled by the cage of the twin mountain ranges. They value their autonomy and hard work and sensible thinking and are not easily swayed by fearmongers or demagogues. Aelurus is a much less stable animal.”

When the princess still said nothing, Chloe continued.

“Despite Adrien’s accomplishments, despite the healthy fear and respect he commands from the common people, the loyalists in the North see him as the weaker brother. Compare the show of ruthlessness Prince Félix had to unleash in order to subjugate the former duchy of dread King Tigris Typhon to the show of diplomacy---genius as it may have been---Prince Adrien showed in the Southern Harbors.”

“They think he will be a weaker king for his choices,” Marinette hissed.

“And it is already creating a divide in court as the lords of Aelurus polarize to each brother.”

“So in the Prince Felix’s absence, who dares claim to have his interest under protection?”

“That remains to be seen.” Chloe scoffed at the pale woman’s hard stare. “Adrien’s own friends and the constituents loyal to him don't trust me, but my loyalty is to my friend. And I don't trust you, Lady Marinette. You will ultimately be his downfall.”

“As you said, that remains to be seen.”

“At any rate, the North is Adrien’s weakest flank. Because Felix had ministered to the north and had to drive his fist down fairly hard, they fear and follow him. The whole lovely story of you and Adrien being fated together by the gods would appease the south and soft Adarna, but not the northern Aelurus, who have been vanguard against the Northern Peninsulars for centuries. The least you can do, Lady Marinette, is not embarrass him.”

“How ironic that the north seems to enjoy bullying and being bullied, exactly the way the northern pirates they despise are.”

Chloe tried to find the subtle jab under her mild words but could not find anything. The sun was doing the pale tart some good, however, as she was no longer as colorless now.

“Shall we proceed to our lessons then, Lady Marinette?” Chloe said.

“Please,” Marinette said with a gracious courtesy in style of Faeles.

“A strong nation like Aelurus is made up of strong and strong-willed constituents,” Chloe began her lecture. “They submit to the Agreste dynasty because they recognize strength and power. Strength is recognized in men through their martial skills second, their financial acumen and wealth first. For women in Aelurus, education and good breeding both signify long lasting wealth. But a well established house would have deeply drawn customs that my lady would need to know and respect--or the vassals of Agreste will spit on their master.”

 

 

 


	4. Spring II

 

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**FIRST FLOOR  
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**SECOND & THIRD FLOOR  
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**FOURTH FLOOR  
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* * *

 

It was a widely-accepted fact among the staff and inhabitants of the Citadel that Lord Felix inherited his propensity for stalking from King Gabriel. Prince Adrien did not stalk, usually too polite--even when his genuine interest was being tried by the multitude of problems he carried on his young shoulders---to not greet the people he met in hallways. No. Unless he was playing a prank on someone, Adrien did not stalk about in silence.

That early afternoon, his brooding mood communicated to Nathalie, who would have otherwise taken their surplus time to review any new deliverables she had to follow up for him by tomorrow, and to his bodyguard, Gori, who seemed doubly more menacing than usual. Adrien dismissed both of them as soon as they passed the private sections of the citadel, drawing his cloak over his head to pass incognito through the Royal family’s mostly empty apartments.

Today was Mari’s third day in Faeles, almost halfway through her short visit. Things were terribly official, of course, and he tried not to resent that, since he needed to convince his stubborn court of her queenly attributes. While their sessions from the previous two nights had been productive, they only had three more nights scheduled for working together on the Union Papers, a measly total of six hours.

He supposed, he could have dismissed Lady Chloe at eleven today and had luncheon sent for them in his office instead, two hours stolen for their urgent cause. Adrien, however, wanted to ensure Marinette and Chloe were off to a congenial start. Chloe was his oldest friend, after all, and she had incontestable influence over the ladies of the court. She could definitely help Mari gain footing, given the chance to see for herself how much of an asset Mari would be, when allowed the appropriate powers she had every right to assume.

And there was the rub.

In the past five months, Adrien had been steadily introducing Mari’s writings to the court, attaching as appendices to his own work the laws and treatises she had authored in Adarna, as well as choice excerpts from their long years of correspondence. Still, his attempts to pin the Regent’s Council into committing to his proposal of Mari’s responsibilities and powers were always rebuffed by an indulgent chuckle or an amused tut-tut. The three-phased expansion of her role as Princess Consort, Queen Consort, and eventually, Queen of the Joint Crown needed a frank assessment from his father’s oldest advisors. Instead, the feel-good mood of his lunch with Mari was ruined when he was reminded once again that their months’ long hedging was set up to thwart his tight schedule.

“Court meets two afternoons from now,” Adrien told the only two remaining members of the Regent Council. “Why was the agenda sent out to the court without the amendment I explicitly ordered?”

“Your Highness,” Andre Bourgeois, Duke of Cat’s Claw, rumbled. “Being that you have sought the speedy flow of documents through court ratification, we took the liberty to expedite one of the more, ah, prickly topics, namely the young lady’s formal scope--”

“Need I remind you that the young lady in question is as experienced in jurisprudence and legislation as I am? With all your praise on my supposed prodigious handling of court matters, I myself would not be able to defend a plan I have yet to review in its final draft. Tell me, my lords, how many times have I asked your good opinions on the document, so I could make the necessary revisions and forward my final draft to my lady?”

“Adrien,” Roger, Earl Raincomprix and Captain of the Guards, said with a sigh. “Andre and I, we love you like our very own son, but you are asking for something like, like the reversal of night and day! Prodigies are but drops in an ocean---you can’t expect me to advise you on something without precedent---”

“I have provided you five piles of precedent situations from all four corners of the globe. And even that is beside the point! Why is Mari on the official agenda to present an unfinished document?”

“She is here,” Andre said helplessly. “What better time and who better to speak on the matter?”

“Not on Thursday! This is an obvious set up for failure.”

“That’s not fair,” Roger said with an injured tone. “We want you to be happy, too. We know how important this match is to you, but it is what it is. To invest a foreign-born queen with such responsibilities is unheard of. She is already going to be the chatelaine and hostess of the keep.”

Andre murmured his agreement.

Frustrated, Adrien glowered at the two older men before him. This was the sort of undermining delay Felix and Lady Bri’s engagement faced repeatedly for over five years. Adrien wasn’t about to back down on the issue just because two of the most powerful men in the realm were afraid to ruffle furs.

“We know you want us to appreciate the Princess as much as you do,” Roger continued, “but we have traditions to uphold. Our duty to remain steadfast in face of young passion is even firmer now.”

“My personal feelings are beside the point, Roger. Hang her gender and think of this as a recruitment plan! I've based much of this on her existing roles in Adarna. I've followed her career closely; though without fanfare, she has been a solid pillar in the Fenghuang government. We need her dedication, her working knowledge of Adarnian commerce and the nature of their trades with the rest of the continent. Not to mention, the Northern Peninsulars have been a thorn on the Adarnian side for as long as they have been on ours, and while she never had to directly confront them, she has been studying the fluctuations of One Continent international relations for as long as I have. You all want Felix’s political will---well, she has it!”

“Except for the obvious fact that her being female automatically renders her unpalatable to the court.”

“If it's just her being female, I’d gladly shove her future status as Queen down their throats. Queens have been doing all I have outlined for centuries here in Faeles.”

“Through the King for sure. Through official assignations by her liege.”

“I need her to be able to act independently. We’ll both have double the work as it is and I can't afford the time to haggle with the court every time they find something offensive with my so-called assignations for her. I need you all to look at the delineation of powers without regard to her gender. Tell me what's reasonable and what's not, just don't preface it with some bullshit about the weaker sex.”

“I cannot openly solicit your cause at court, Adrien,” Andre finally said. “As the prime minister, I need to represent the court’s will. If anything, once the Princess births your heir, she will naturally become more beloved by your people. Her influence would grow appropriately.”

“We’re uniting two kingdoms, Duke Bourgeois,” Adrien said bluntly. “I need several dopplegangers to be able to manage taking care of something that complex---and I happen to have someone better: her. You will learn to work with her, my Lords. She isn't marrying me, just so she can palm off her responsibilities. I can't afford to have her crippled, not in the crucial first years. I can't afford to wait till her exploits in motherhood, as you say, soften my case with those stubborn sea dogs.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Princess Marinette will speak on the environmental controls of fertilizer transport on Adarnian barges, if she agrees. The issue of her scope of powers shall be tabled to next week. You will both send Lady Sanceour your comments on the delineation of powers document by sundown tomorrow.”

“As the Prince Regent commands.”

Only a few minutes after he had left their usual weekly meeting without further discussion, Adrien already regretted speaking so sternly to the men who had helped Felix and him rule Aelurus for half a decade. He had been furious, long nights of studying and writing, long nights he knew Mari also burned in Fenghuang, were forefront in his mind and he deplored the delay they caused by attempting to undermine Marinette’s reputation. Mari would likely pull through her impromptu court appearance with her usual aplomb, but Adrien was determined to block such political games from playing out. Mari was going to observe court, as planned, and would speak to the fertilizer issue, if they get to it.

“Meow?”

The tentative greeting cleared his mind of indignant thoughts. Adrien picked up his pet, rearranging his grip when the kitten fell to nibbling his knuckles.

“Meow? Meow??”

“I know,” Adrien groused back as he divested his cloak with his free hand. “They're being ridiculous, but I have a feeling this isn't the end of it. I better finalize the delineation of powers proposal now and show it to her tonight. At least she won't be ambushed then, in case someone in court decides to be impertinent.”

Adrien stilled, even as the cat continued to play with the ties of his shirt. His sitting room was as pristine as he had left it, the breakfast trays having been cleared even before he left early today for the Regent’s Office. He scanned the room for anything less obvious, before padding softly to his bedroom. His valet had picked up after him, as usual, stacking his notes in a neat pile atop his made bed. He was in the process of looking through his closet when he heard several thumps from the adjoining room.

His personal office then.

He wasn't universally adored. That wasn't new; no Agreste ever was. Dread Aelurus and Dread Agreste earned their name through a long and at times quite violent martial history. But their prowess in battle wasn't the only thing they had to boast, and Adrien simply wanted the world to know what exactly it was that made the Aelurian people worth fighting for.

Perhaps, regrettably, too many people took Adrien’s attempts to expand Crown interests beyond bullying by brute strength as a sign of weakness. Being the friendlier face of the Agreste brothers found him approval in that limited role, but once it was clear the throne was to go to him, people’s tolerance changed to outright disapproval.

Adrien has had a lot of practice growing up under constant disapproval. And while he didn't want to be feared by his people the way his forebears were, maybe a little fear was in order… enough for them to remember that overtly trying to remove him from his rightful place just might unleash the Agreste in him.

He entered his office. The door slammed against the stone wall with a sharp retort. He let it; the hinges would have announced him regardless. The trespasser, having ransacked his shelves, squatted over a chest of old scrolls. Adrien overpowered him before his next breath, had him arched over the desk with the sheathed Cataclysm poised over his… her neck…

“...Marinette?”

He could have jumped into those wide blue eyes in his relief, but they narrowed in warning even as the next incredulous question came to his mouth. She pressed a finger to his lips---she managed to loosen her arm from his pincer grip through some convoluted movement----and shushed him.

“Ma--”

“I’m hiding from Lady Raincomprix.”

“What?”

“Shhh.”

Lady Sabrina. Weaving classes. Right. “My lady, this is highly--”

“Hush, kitty!”

“But nobody else is with me.”

“Oh?”

“I came here to be alone for a few moments, before my next appointment.”

“I see.”

Mari seemed nonplussed at having a sword to her throat, at having been found sneaking in her host’s private rooms of all things. She wasn’t even guarding against his hold, completely soft and yielding against him, and demonstrating that she did in fact let him catch her and that she wasn’t afraid of him in the least bit… She probably didn’t think of it as trespassing---after all, he had sneaked her to his rooms the past three nights, granted Nathalie or Gori were just in the sitting room and the door left open. Adrien supposed she only expected such freedom, having allowed him the same to roam her own home during his unannounced visit last winter.

Remembering last winter unleashed a torrent of confusing emotions in Adrien. Guilt, mostly, but also resolve. They were far too close now and she was far too vulnerable.

Oh, Mari. Yet another person who didn’t fear him enough.

“Um, Adrien.”

His unease must have communicated itself to her. Either that or it finally dawned on her that High Ladybird or not, it was not okay to stay pinned under some lumbering oaf of a swordsman who evidently didn’t deserve half the medals he had decorating his private office. He released her quickly, righting her tinier body with the same movement he pushed them off the desk.

“My apologies, my lady.”

“And my apologies for choosing to hide here,” Mari said even as she straightened her clothes, touching the pink daffodil--today’s flower guess--tucked into her bun to ensure it was still there.

Adrien averted his eyes at the movement, suddenly very aware of how alone they were without even a guard posted for at least half a corridor away from his rooms. He should have allowed at least Gori to stay with him. He wouldn’t have wanted to chat, and he would have been a more effective deterrent than empty air for things they could do alone in his room.

“Hey!” Mari exclaimed, all of a sudden rearing back.

A dark ball of something had hurled itself straight for the papers she had just gathered together. The ball now unwound into the stray Adrien had taken in during his trip home from Fenghuang two months ago.

“PLAGG!”

The kitten yowled at him unrepentantly even as he scrambled awkwardly into Mari’s arms, his little claws ripping at what Adrien recognized as his latest draft of the delineation of powers document. Mari caught him with one hand, dropping the papers on his desk before using her freed hand to pet the restless kitten, and made soothing noises.

“How smug you look,” Adrien muttered to his pet in spite of himself. “You found a prettier playmate, didn't you? You shameless freeloader.”

Plagg merely purred, in response to Mari’s ministrations no doubt. Just as Adrien readied to retrieve his cat in a fit of irrational jealousy, the tiny furball yowled and twisted in his intended’s arms, batting at his own ears in irritation.

“Now, now, chaton,” she said with a delighted laugh. “Let me get that pesky bug for you. Oh shush! It won't bite. Look! It's lucky!”

A ladybug flew out from Plagg’s fur, settling briefly on Adrien’s shoulder before it alighted on the open window’s ledge.

“You came through the window?” Adrien demanded in sudden realization.

“My balcony is just above it,” Mari admitted with a shrug. “You named your kitten after your God?”

She squeaked as Plagg nibbled himself free of her hold and leapt after the ladybug. The red and black beetle avoided the pounce and flew down to one of the area rugs lining the floor before Adrien’s floor-to-ceiling book shelves. The cat followed once more, but this time, the ladybug flew back into his fur, prompting the kitten to lazily bat at his ears once more.

“Our God is a prankster God,” Adrien said as he held a chair open to his lady. “Surely, he'll like it. Look at him carry on like a god.”

“You don't actually go around yelling, ‘Plagg, don't eat my cheese,’ do you?”

“Fine. His nickname is Noir, but he'd like for you to call him Plagg.”

“I think I shall call him Noir, lest the ocean spew a waterspout to punish me for my insolence.”

“That tiny ladybug you brought with you should be protection.”

“You mean the one I found in Noir’s ear?”

“I mean the one that probably came from your hair or something and defended your honor when Plagg so rapaciously threatened it.”

“It won't be much protection against the ancient Duchy of Feral Waste’s traditional punishment for a priest’s blasphemy---quartering, was it? And doesn't the Faeles court favor exotic Feral Waste punishments for high profile criminals?”

“Because Royals are high profile and honorary priests of Plagg. Bravo, Lady Marinette.”

Mari glared at him murderously.

“If you practice making that look just a tad subtler, you’ll be on your way to threatening the court without having to describe said exotic punishments.”

“They do sound ridiculous, don't they? All the mutilation of dead bodies.”

“Unfortunately, since they're so exotic, few people have had real practice--or in fact any real practical knowledge---so the poor bastard often takes hours to die.”

Mari’s face faltered.

“Not that anybody’s been ever sentenced to, uh, say quartering for decades. Well, just one incident. And it didn't even push through.”

Adrien didn't see it. Even ten year old Aelurian princes were spared the sight of their mothers’ assassins’ executions. But he has heard about it, read about it, dreamed about it, woken up from images of it in cold sweat. The dread King breaking tradition by personally becoming involved with a trial for an assassination of royalty. His father stepping up the executioner's block, the very sword now at Adrien’s own waist delivering death and bodily mutilation in one blow. And for the mastermind, just small nicks to the man’s fingers and toes; it took an hour for the black swelling to reach the bones of his wrist. His death howls were heard for two days and nights and for a month people swore they could still hear his final mewls of agony carried by the sea breeze up the Keep..

“Are you angry?” she suddenly said.

He shook himself out of his reverie and blinked up at her, blue eyes harsh against the early afternoon light streaming from the window behind him. She had probably been trying to catch his attention for a while now.

“About sneaking away from the weaving class?”

“What?” Adrien frowned. “Of course, not.”

“I promise to attend tomorrow, but Lady Sabrina… Is a bit intense, isn't she?”

Adrien laughed in spite of himself. “I'm sorry. I think it's because Sabrina is with Chloe almost 24/7. She's probably just excited to be with someone else for an extended period of time.”

Mari’s face became slightly unreadable at this comment.

“I… I should say the same about you.”

It was Mari’s turn to be startled. Her protest transformed her blank expression into an indignant pout. “You said a lot of things, Prince.”

“Angry. I thought you were angry with me.”

“We've been through this. I'm fine with the schedule!” She huffed, the tendrils of hair that had strayed from her bun fluttering at the movement. “I admit it. I had… imagined things wrong.”

“Imagined things wrong?”

A small blush crept up his lady’s pale cheeks. “Discussing all those policies and proposals without the complicated code we use in our letters. Arguing about points I sometimes just let be for the sake of not overburdening poor Papi. Just… just messing around, I guess. I mean, I'm not even supposed to be here.”

“Trespassing?”

“Sitting in your private chambers without a chaperon.”

“Plagg is our chaperon.”

“I'm sure Noir will defend your honor from my naked ankles. Lady Chloe mentioned the disgrace of exposing one's ankles at least five times this morning and I thought we had already covered proper court dress yesterday.”

“Don't worry; I promise not to peek when you climb down from the window back to your room.”

“How charitable of you.”

“I'm sorry, anyway. Though it sounds really lame with context. I'm sorry I didn't give you full disclosure when we started all this betrothal business. This… This is Faeles.”

He did not expect the whomp of parchment against his overgrown bangs.

“My lady?!”

“Aelurus is rigidly patriarchal: wow, that's news! Have we both not gone through this with our elder siblings’ courtship? Seriously, chaton, sometimes I worry about you sticking me up in a pedestal. You didn't actually expect your people to just fall in awe at my feet, did you? Maybe if I bare my ankles and seduce the lot of them in Thursday’s court session. What do you think?”

Adrien stared at her with his mouth open.

“I came to look for your draft, actually. We've discussed contents of the delineations of power document ad nauseam, of course, but you have this maddeningly quirky ways of pissing off your readers that I’d want to be prepared to defend if they decide to nitpick on them…”

“...You knew?”

“Lord Theo, the Adarnian ambassador, keeps me abreast, of course. And Lady Chloe might have mentioned it. Before lunch. She has... impeccable timing.”

The three of them had luncheon together at the southern terraces earlier. Mari had been quiet over the meal, but Adrien hadn't thought much of it at the time, since Chloe tended to dominate conversations. Trust Chloe to ferret out the court session agenda from her father before even the Prince regent did. “I'm sorry she ruined your appetite,” he said finally.

“On the contrary, she whetted it.”

Adrien’s mouth must have still been open for the next thing he knew, something red and tiny fluttered straight into it. He tasted the cold little nub, but it flew away on its own before he could spit it out.

“Did that ladybug just---” Adrien asked.

“Lady Red’s blessing,” Mari said with a smirk. “Didn't I tell you? You don't need to keep this ladybug in your mouth.”

Adrien sputtered, remembering the  clumsy promise he made to protect her, a few days into the Fenghuang visit he had sprung upon her last Winter.

“Anyway, I'm supposed to watch you sit as high magistrate in about an hour. If you don't mind, I'd like to take the time to review the powers document. Are you free?”

Was he free? He was her prisoner. What the hell was she even asking?

“Is this my cue to fly away?”

“No!” Adrien grabbed her hand before she could flutter to his window. “Please, Mari.”

“No?”

“No. Stay.”

She smiled at him in a way that made his throat dry, prompting him to retrieve his hand with as much dignity as he could. A husky laugh made him seriously rethink his decision, but his lady, perhaps satisfied by his show of babbling mess, dove straight into editing his proposal. She was vicious with her comments, leaving no comma or semicolon unmolested, teasing him for the writing habits she had been knowing for six years now.

In the end, she was late to high magistrate by seven minutes. (Him by eleven minutes, since it would be a scandal if they had walked in together.) But he was madly in love with his impossible princess and Faeles would just have to deal with it.

 

Nathalie’s hopes for a restful week for her charge was initially dashed when Lady Cheng’s schedule was revised on her third day, allowing for the Adarnian princess to be quietly escorted to the backways of the Citadel in order to work in the Prince’s private office from the sixth to eighth candle marks of the morning. She had taken it to mean that the prince was planning on spending breakfast over work and on running back to his apartments in between his morning appointments, but Lady Cheng politely chased him out the first time he tried. And while Nathalie was satisfied to note once more that the future queen seemed to have some immunity to the charms of her intended, she was also daunted by the prospect of having to prod a second person to their meals or their bed.

Mari, as she insisted to be called in private, conducted herself with unfailing dignity throughout the remaining lessons, observation sessions, and dinners with lords who eyed her with undisguised curiosity.  Lady Bridgette, who had automatically filled in the bored silences of Lord Felix with her chatter, was someone the Aelurian lords knew how to deal with. The weather, the country estates, the children were social niceties they were familiar with, conversations Bridgette had learned to master over the long years of her courtship with Felix. A charming ingenue, they thought of the First Born, a pretty face with pleasant manners who knew to retreat with the rest of the ladies when men started talking business and politics.  
  
Lady Mari was a bit more of an awkward fit; initially tongue-tied and clumsy, she had no qualms staying when her prince invited her to stay at the table every evening after they dined. She offered her opinion when familiar topics came up, but otherwise closely watched the men working for and working with her future husband. Some of the gentlemen loosened up when it was clear she wasn’t going to police their manners or choice of language. Most simply pretended she wasn’t at the table.  
  
The ladies, on the other hand, seemed to adore Lady Mari as much as they did Lady Bridgette. Her talent in sketching, as well as knowledge and skills in dressmaking, cooking, and baking, allowed for many topics of conversation. Lady Raincomprix, in particular, followed Mari even to some of her afternoon lessons with Adrien, a curious thing that Lady Chloe seemed to be tolerating. Lady Chloe herself limited her harping to the daily hour-long lessons she gave on court manners and the Faeles social scene.  
  
Nathalie shook her head. There was still something strange with the princess that she couldn’t pinpoint. During the days and nights leading to the bimonthly court session, it was understandable for Mari to be reticent, only regaining her sparkle at the end of the day, when she worked with Adrien over the most mind-numbing legal documents. Nathalie thought it had just been nerves over having to defend her future powers as queen in front of the sea wolves of Aelurus, but even after then she remained subdued.  
  
In terms of Adrien’s brief on his queen’s delineation of powers, the Aelurian court session was a rousing success. Lady Mari, accompanied by the Adarnian ambassador, Theo, and by Lady Caline Bustier, the preeminent scholar on courtly protocols, defended the brief with aplomb, answering questions succinctly and clearly, tabling those she couldn’t answer to a follow up portfolio she promised to submit in time for the next session, and politely calling out personal attacks.  
  
The usual characters were there. Nathalie could almost predict the ebb and flow of arguments and counter-arguments of the court members.  
  
“Lord Agreste, Princess, ladies and gentlemen of the court,” Lord Bourgeois opened with his usual pedantic tone. “It been brought to my attention that our constituents have many grave and admittedly alarming concerns over the brief presented to us.”  
  
“Proceed as you see fit, Lord Bourgeois,” Adrien said. “Either summarize said concerns or open the floor to speakers.”  
  
“I dare not accept such a flattering assignment, your Highness, to distill wisdom from so many a brilliant mind is beyond me.”  
  
“And you'd rather not have unpopular sentiments ascribed to you,” said Armand D’Argencourt, Marquis of the Eastern Marches. “We understand, chief minister.”  
  
“That's not what I said, Sir--”  
  
“Please open the floor to speakers, Minister Bourgeois,” their Prince commanded.  
  
As Nathalie expected, the familiar wrangling of the Aelurian court had already began. Lord D’Argencourt has despised Lord Bourgeois ever since he was passed over as Chief Minister, a role the previous Marquis D’Argencourt held. Lord Bourgeois steadfastly retaliated by acting as if everything his rival did and associated with was somehow superfluous. While both men were certain to pledge the polar opposite of the other’s decision for almost any issue, neither were sure supporters of Lord Adrien’s stances. Lord Bourgeois tended to choose more moderately than the staunchly traditionalist Lord Raincomprix, but he usually tried to appease Adrien, a textbook approach to Agrestes. (It really was---Aelurian nobles had to study a two-volume treatise on how to appease an Agreste at some point during their childhood.) Lord D’Argencourt was personally fond of his former student, Adrien, but did not let such sentimentality get in the way of his purpose in life: to thwart the Bourgeois. Adrien had quickly learned to stop their arguments long before they descended to embarrassing name-calling.  
  
“The piecewise plan to extend the princess's powers is wise and well-thought of,” Lord Simon Grimault, the Baron of Bartonelle called out from amidst echoes of agreement. He didn't bother to approach the stand, knowing all eyes and ears were attuned to him. This was his appointed role after all; if D’Argencourt’s mission in life was to disagree with Bourgeois, that was exactly the Baron’s mission with regards to any Agreste, as of late, Adrien. His weapons were valid arguments and well-researched precedences, however. He was a much more problematic thorn to Adrien’s side and a more effective foil to his ideas. “We expect Lady Cheng to maintain lordship and dominion over Adarna as would Lord Agreste over Aelurus. We expect both monarchs to act as their spouses’ regents in extenuating circumstance---that word, Prince Regent.... extenuating.”  
  
“Please get to the point, Lord Grimault,” Adrien said. The only other member of the court more prone to tangential thoughts than Adrien himself was Lord Grimault.  
  
“With pleasure, Highness. We protest the princess’s power to veto royal commands issued by the King of Aelurus. And we protest her right to veto laws passed and signed by the court.”  
  
“If I recall correctly, Grimault, none of you protested my powers to veto royal commands issued by the Queen of Adarna. Nor did you my powers to veto laws passed and signed by the court of Adarna.”  
  
“But you are to be her highness's husband,” Lord Raincomprix, like clockwork, protested. “As it is, she is pledged to obey you.”  
  
“That tradition isn't pertinent to the matter at hand,” Adrien said. “I believe we've been working on the Union papers in part to avoid such assumptions from arising. She is also the Queen of Adarna, and, I her king consort. I wouldn't dare suggest the Queen of Adarna has any obligations to obey me without question.”  
  
“At any rate,” Grimault said. “We cannot have two figures vested with the highest powers of the land. The crown has to be a clear and unequivocal apex of authority and as such cannot be split between two people.”  
  
“If I may, Lord Grimault,” Lady Cheng’s lilting voice cut through the murmurs of the court. “How long has my lord Adrien served as Prince Regent?”  
  
The murmurs of the court intensified to a buzz.  
  
“Your highness, what you're suggesting is completely different.”  
  
“Then humor me,” Mari commanded. “How long, Lord Grimault?”  
  
“About five months, princess.”  
  
“Lord Felix?”  
  
“Ten years, give or take.”  
  
“And King Gabriel?”  
  
“What of King Gabriel?”  
  
“Wouldn’t you say His Majesty retains all rights and powers inherent in his crown while sharing the same to his sons?”  
  
“That is different, Highness,” D’Argencourt declared. “The king has cloistered his person from public life and as such has been absent all throughout these ten years.”  
  
“My lord, are you telling me that if the king walks in and issues you a royal command, you would first ask permission to obey from his son?”  
  
“My dearest young lady--” Bourgeois began with a long-suffering sigh.  
  
But Sir Theo Barbot, the Adarnian ambassador interrupted the duke’s fatherly words. “Your Grace,” he snapped. “I would demand you show respect as befits the Princess of Adarna.”  
  
“I don't believe I shall suffer such a confrontational tone in my court--”  
  
“I believe you will, Duke of Cat’s Claw,” Adrien said flatly. “If my guests pursue a complaint against an affront witnessed by the entirety of _my_ court, I shall be forced to judge in their favor.”  
  
“Well, I…” Bourgeois sputtered. “My apologies, your Highness.”  
  
“I accept,” Lady Mari said. “More importantly, Lord Bourgeois, I believe I have made my point. We have a very recent example of a diarchy at work between King Gabriel and Prince Felix. We are working towards a unified One. Instances must arise deemed to be a purely Adarnian or Aelurian matter but might later be found to affect a greater scope. As with King Gabriel and his sons, I will respect my lord's preeminence in matters of Aelurus, as he will mine in matters of Adarna, but we cannot discount the inevitably of an overlapping issue.”  
  
A staccato of applause cut through the surge of protest meeting the princess’s declaration. An obscure lord of one of the northern holdings, another marquis if Nathalie remembered correctly, rose from his seat to deliver a flourishing bow towards Lady Cheng.  
  
“My Lord Leland, Marquis of the Silver Marches,” Lady Cheng acknowledged. Nathalie expected no less; the First Princess had remembered him from the dinner with Adrien’s distant relatives on her second night in Faeles.  
  
“I was wondering when you’d speak up, cousin,” Adrien said, his tone neutral. While Nathalie could not recall any particular incident during Lady Cheng’s visit that might have caused the prince to be on guard against Lord Leland, the marquis was famous for his conquests among gentlewomen, virgins and widows alike.  
  
Lord Leland nodded his bright blond head to his cousin. “With all due respect, Princess,” he said. “You will just be his wife. King Gabriel is his father. The regnant’s power is conferred from father to son. You see?”  
  
“I protest that,” Lady Cheng said, rising to her full height.  
  
“Lord Leland is absolutely correct,” Grimault declared. “It's a completely different matter, investing a foreign Queen power over the will of the court---”  
  
“I respectfully protest that!” roared Lady Cheng over the din of heated voices. “I will never be _just_ his wife, sir. I will be his partner in life and in rule. I will be his co-monarch in the united one. Our responsibilities, our risks, our sacrifices, our rights and privileges... we will share.”  
  
She stared back defiantly at the stone-faced men who stilled at her raised voice.  
  
“Yes, I will be his wife,” she continued at a more subdued note. “Happily. And it shall not be the least of my roles.”  
  
“A last question, Lady Cheng,” Leland said.  
  
“Edgar…” the Prince warned.  
  
“Oblige me, Lord Agreste. Lady Cheng?  
  
“Very well,” said Mari.  
  
“Is the future queen planning on regularly joining court as part of her duties?”  
  
“I believe so. For now, I shall make it a point to be in Faeles at least once a month.”  
  
“Then I look forward to matching wits with my lady. Our debates have been getting rather monotonous, hasn't it, Lord Simon?  
  
“Sit down, Edgar,” Adrien said, training his cousin a nasty look.  
  
“I tell you, my lords,” Raincomprix lamented. “This is flying straight in the face of tradition!”  
  
“There, there, Uncle,” came up the arrogant drawl of Marchioness Playa de Am. “Tradition will no doubt flourish on in the ancient promontories of Dread Faeles. Henceforth just a tad too pinkly, perhaps.”  
  
“Thank you, Lady Chloe,” Lady Cheng said with a wince.

Admittedly, the political scene at Faeles must have been quite a culture shock for the princess. Discussions in the Fenghuang court could easily become as contentious as what seemed to be the norm in Faeles. Rivalries existed among the various chieftains of Adarna and its multivariate cultural groups didn’t always prioritize issues the same way, much less value the same ideals. The Fenghuang court was much less formal than the Faeles one, but it was generally more polite and civil. The nobility, and Nathalie supposed, the society in Adarna in general was less stratified compared to Aelurus.

Lady Cheng was raised in a matriarchal society---they worshiped a creation goddess, after all. Every man and woman was expected to pull their own weight in Adarna. As with young men, young women are trusted to make good judgment by themselves, and failing that, to make their own mistakes. Nathalie maintained enough of a link with old comrades in Adarna to know for a fact that Marinette’s people were quite fond of her. In light of the debacle with the former First Born’s failed engagement first and her eventual abdication, the public was mostly indulgent with Marinette and her courtship with the new Prince of Aelurus.

If Nathalie was being honest to herself, she'd admit that she felt quite fond of the spunky princess. She did retain a sense of loyalty to Adarna to some degree, however, Nathalie suspected her fondness of Lady Cheng stemmed elsewhere. Maybe it was merely the extension of her fondness of Adrien himself.  
  
Regardless, Nathalie was bothered by the First Princess's reticence. Tonight was Lady Cheng's last night in Faeles after all. At the very least, Nathalie was expecting the rush of conversation they usually had during their evening sessions of revising the union papers. She had been chaperoning their late night meetings, and they seemed to easily forget she was there at all, judging from the outrageous flirting that managed to slip in between their serious plans for uniting their countries. There would be no late night session later; Lady Cheng was to finish packing and retire early in preparation for her trip home tomorrow.

Finally, Adrien himself spoke up about the elephant in the room.  
  
"Mari," he said quietly. "It's not you, okay? It's me."

As expected, because of the way Adrien phrased things, his fiancée snapped out of even the funk she was in. The blue of Lady Cheng’s eyes seemed to deepen with anguish, a quick ripping thing that seemed to go as quickly as it came. It was replaced by unbridled ire.

“What?” Marinette demanded.

"My father's letter.” Adrien was quick to amend. “Don't take it as a rejection."

Lady Cheng took two beats to recover, then said, "Chat, do you expect me to believe your father sent a letter to avoid dining with his own son?"

“As he has for ten years? Yes.”

Marinette’s mouth dropped open. “I… I thought the stories were exaggerations.”

“Father has tried, of course. He never comes.” Adrien managed a lopsided smile. “At least you got a letter. I think he likes you.” He deflated at his lady’s incredulous stare. “Or at least, you've caught his attention.”

“He doesn't care.”

“Oh, I think it's the opposite. He cares too much.”

“And that excuses his hiding from even you?” Mari inhaled sharply, then after a heartbeat, released the breath in a soft sigh. “I'm sorry, Chat. I didn't mean to attack your father like that. I mean… I didn't mean to make assumptions when I don't know anything.”

The Prince reached over the dining table to grip his princess’s hand. “My father retreated from the world after my mother died. You know that much, yeah?”

Marinette nodded.

“He officially met with Fé at least once every year or so, to discuss the king business and all that. He didn't really have a reason to meet me.”

“You look like your mother,” Marinette blurted out.

Adrien blinked at her, startled.

“Ah, I saw her portrait. Lady Chloe confirmed it was her.”

“Yes… That might be part of it,” the prince reluctantly admitted. “But the other reason is me. I… I was scared of Father for a while.”

It was Marinette’s turn to blink. “You mentioned this to me just a few days ago. You said the last time a person was sentenced for quartering…”

“Yes. The mastermind of my mother’s murder. My father requested the court to allow him to draw blood, as a private citizen offering a token to his dead wife.”

“He used Cataclysm,” Marinette whispered.

“He did. There's any number of questionable details colored by people's imagination, but the headsman and the then chief minister reported he nicked just the right thumb and forefinger really. The swelling started almost immediately.”

“And the man immediately died before the quartering could start.”

“Well no. It took about 76 hours for him to die, according to official reports, but no one dared touch him after Plagg’s Rot set in. His screams completely stopped after two days, but no one wanted to go near it. It was only after the public petitioned to have his body removed from the town square that they discovered he was still alive underneath the swelling… it was nightmare, pretty much.”

“He got his revenge. Wasn't that enough for him to at least be part of you and your brother’s life?”

“He never got his wife back though. And Fé’s always been self sufficient. I'm more like mother, they say. I scare easily.”

“You wear your heart on your sleeve.”

“You can say it like that, I guess. Anyway, I pushed him away first. I guess I became sick every time he summoned me---nobody’s been clear about it honestly.”

“And he has never forgiven you since?”

“Honestly, if your youngest kid rejected you like that, would you be brave enough to try again?”

“I don't know.”

“Anyway, my Father’s been through a lot. I can't really blame him for getting tired of the world.”

Something flashed in the princess’s eyes then, but she bit her lip and shook her head, deciding not to share her thoughts any further.  Adrien observed her as she resumed her meal in silence. The subdued lighting in the room etched deep shadows on his still face. What thoughts swirled in his mind?

Nathalie could scarcely move herself, reluctant to cast attention to herself sitting at the king’s setting, eating the meal prepared for him. It was clear at that moment, however, where her loyalties lay: a most selfish wish reverberated in her mind. Stay, she charged Marinette Dupain-Cheng, stay with him.

It seemed like hours before the Second-Born spoke again.

“Adrien?” she said in between mouthfuls of dessert, black gelatin and tapioca pearls in watered-down caramel.

“Yeah?”

“I'm here now.”

“I know.”

“Won't you have dessert then?”

“Of course. This was my favorite growing up, you know.”

“I know.”

In Fenghuang, even the direst circumstances seemed better when comrades, families, shared meals.

“For some reason,” Adrien continued. “I'm craving something else.”

“What?”

“I can't say it in polite company, my lady.”

The princess snorted. “Please! Lady Sancoeur knows about all your shenanigans.”

“That’s true. Okay, I'm craving for some _you-bae_ jam.”

“.... I'm going to ban the export of ube to Aelurus.”

“You're only _kitten_. You won't tolerate losing all that revenue.”

“I'm banning you from Adarna.”

“How un _bread_ able. At _yeast_ , send me some buns. You, bae, are optional but highly desired.”

“You just keep punning, Chat, and you'll be pining for a year before you as much as smell another ube bun from me.”

“I'm so _bun_ ned out.”

“Aurgh.”

 

* * *

****  


****  
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****  



	5. Spring III

Marinette rose from her canopy bed, lowering her bare feet to soft pelt and descending to the ground as if from a blurry dream.

She barely had an hour of sleep.

It was hard to surrender to slumber when the night’s silence left her alone with her thoughts, when she kept hearing Chloe’s ringing tones prove true her fears regarding Aelurus. The country was not only ruled by a pride of lions, but was also surrounded by a nest of vipers. The Councilmen were merely waiting for her to show a sliver of weakness, before they strike her down and bring Adrien’s capability to rule into question.

And the loyalists...

She hadn’t even told Adrien what Alya had gleaned from the interrogations of his almost assassins.  

Despite the solace that Adrien’s company and her own retinue had given her during her stay in a strange country, she still had difficulty acclimating to the palace, finding it safer to stay in her room when her schedule left her free. She still had a hard time opening the curtains during mornings, and she never went anywhere without her weapons hidden beneath her sleeves or skirts. Not to mention, even while fully knowing that she was only staying for a few days, the pang of homesickness that came each time she noted the foreignness of her surroundings overtook her completely whenever she was alone.

Had she been at home, she would have found the fires roaring and the kitchen comfortably warm against the chill of spring dawn. The manor would be alive with activities of men, women, and children hurrying from place to place. The compound would be filled with sumptuous aromas that would beckon even to pedestrians from outside the walls. By now, her father would have finished inspecting the newly made dough batches, would have taken off his apron and sat with the soldiers strolling to their tables, awaiting their first meal. The red shrines would still be lit with lanterns, and the bells would be tolling for morning prayers, a last moment of quiet before the farmers start their day’s toil in the fields.

Her mother would be in her office, looking over notes and reminders, having promised her daughter that Fenghuang would not fall behind in processing administrative documents during her absence. It gave her a bit of confidence that internal affairs were already smoothed out for the season; the first phase of civilian road constructions were finished ahead of schedule and the tightening of security for the upcoming Spring Festival has been underway for at least two weeks now.

Marinette knew what she would be missing today, the citywide celebration of the Red Lady’s Day with a parade of flowers, of first blooms and first hints of fruit gathered to symbolize the sacrificial crops they anticipated the following months. She should’ve been with them, mingling with the crowd and joining in the festivities.

However, she had to ensure that her people would get to celebrate spring for years to come.

Unable to stay in her quarters any longer, she lashed her arm, letting her bandalore fly from her grip to wrap around the thin weapon hanging off the dresser and back to her waiting hand. The familiar weight gave her the courage to open the doors that led to the wide veranda, empty and blued by moonlight. Mounting the balustrade whilst twirling the sheathed blade, Mari then secured it to her back and leaped to the open air.

The wire she left wrapped around a railing pulled taut as she swung down, then loosened as she eased herself on the grass, the cold of dew and the earth seeping to her skin. Her eyes darted back and forth in the darkness, lips tightening in disapproval at how easy it was for any intruders to slip into the Old Citadel by reversing her path. She knew that there were guards by her doors, but no foot soldiers were stationed beneath her window?

(And more importantly, his?)

Maybe Adrien trusted her enough. He knew that she could take care of herself. She was a ranked ladybird, after all.

Creeping through the Aelurian lands with a sword on her back, however...? Wandering armed around areas restricted to the royals...

Marinette shivered, hoping that her sudden cabin fever would not get her in trouble.

Her dark plume robe was enough to allow her form to melt into the shadows, hiding her small frame that was clothed in silken shirt and pants of a brilliant scarlet that would have made her an easy mark to archers from nearby towers. No one came to these gardens, she knew, and a quick pass through her daily exercise before returning to her rooms would leave no one the wiser of her little escapade.

Following the least trodden cobblestone path, which she judiciously found by the amount of weeds peeking through its gaps, Marinette treaded carefully. The path of jasmines and gardenias steered her to the great towering trees, a curious landmark even from outside the keeps’ thick walls, from where only the dark green crowns were visible. It was such a discombobulating idea, being in what was functionally a fortress that was large enough to include a small forest in one of its private gardens. A few minutes later, judging from the moon’s position on the horizon, she reached a glade. In the glade was a gazebo.

The gazebo was hidden behind a curtain of willow leaves, its vine-covered rails unlocked. Grass overgrown in parts, bushes unmanicured, it was a deserted place, surrounded by fragrant flowers. Serene. Private.

Perfect.

Bolstered by the steel on her back, she slid between the gaping entrance, the balls of her feet brushing the smooth hardwood floor---maple, she thought nonchalantly. It was polished and well-maintained. There was no dust.

Contrary to its condition from outside, the gazebo appeared frequently used.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, just in time to dodge the swing of a sheathed blade. In retaliation, her fingers grabbed the disembodied wrist, her thumb digging between the bones, ready to crush it with one twi--

“ _Mari?_ ”

That frightened rasp of her name snapped her from delivering the blow with her grip. She released her hold immediately and took a step back, the slivers of flickering light finally illuminating his face.

Adrien dropped his weapon. His hands grasped her shoulders.

“What are you doing here?”

Refusing to back down but unable to answer without admitting her guilt at being caught outside of her room, she retorted, “You first.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He frowned then glared at her; his hands slid to her upper arms, slow, quite gentle. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You keep finding me in places I seem to have no business in. Awkward. You don't have Noir along by any chance, do you?”

Shaking his head, he relinquished her, a small smile yielding from his lips. “I'm afraid Plagg wouldn't pass as chaperon in this situation, my lady. I can use paperwork as an excuse for sneaking you to my private office, but this place at this time and just us is pretty damning on paper.”

“I'll keep my ankles covered,” Mari said piously, earning her a soft snort.

Now that her sight had adjusted, she realized what the gazebo truly was.

It was Adrien’s private salle.

Devoid of royal colored drapes or of ceremonial weapons she had seen proudly displayed in the royal training facilities, the salle was exclusively for the brothers. It was clear from the display--assorted foils, épée, long swords, and simple sabers were hanging on walls, variously sized to the needs of a growing fencing student. Some were too broken for actual use--splinters of a rusted blade, the pieces of a broken hilt cushioned by a velvet pillow inside a glass case. These were treasures of a young, progressing _sabreur_.     

The windows were mere inches below the low-beamed stone ceiling, likely keeping the room cool and dim for most of the early mornings. As the willow tree provided a natural shade with its sheltering foliage, the salle would remain pleasant even during the sun’s afternoon peak.  

Marinette caught sight of the flickering oil lamp on the floor. The dying flame was sputtering, running on its dregs.

“How long have you been here?” She took in his ragged appearance, blond hair and slate cotton shirt adhering to his damp skin. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, bare toes peeking from beneath the hem of his trousers.  

“Just...” He exhaled through his mouth, eyes looking wildly everywhere before it focused on her---almost on her anyway, somewhere on top of her bedhead. “...I needed to think.”

“And going through sword forms _hours_ before sunrise is invigorating to the mind?”

“Yes.”  He gave her an unconvincing smile, while his hand flicked to one of her pigtails. He absentmindedly fiddled with its ends, still avoiding her gaze. “You should get back to sleep, my lady. I’ll escort you back to your rooms, or just your balcony, if you prefer being discre--”

“Adrien?”

Marinette reached out, palming both of his cheeks, and forced his green eyes to meet hers. There was a rebuke forming at the back of her mind, but the memory of how this came to be stilled her words. Instead, she voiced out her suspicions from ever since he left Adarna and whispered.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was still bothering you?”

Adrien stilled, his smile collapsing. She felt him tense beneath her touch, how he almost bowed in response despite her hold. Her left hand slid from his face to his affected shoulder, where she could still feel the rough impression of a cicatrice underneath the thin cloth.

Marinette bit her lip, before asking again. “Chat?”

“You already have a lot on your plate, bugaboo.” His fingers gingerly wrapped around her wrist, before gliding up, wriggling till they dislodged her hold on his shoulder, his fingers underneath hers. “You shouldn’t worry yourself when I still have two functional limbs. I’ll be fine, Mari. I just want to make sure the connective tissues don't atrophy.”

“We made sure that it wasn’t broken or dislocated, but if--”

“I can roll my shoulder fine, Mari.” Adrien’s grip firmed. He shushed her worries by brushing her knuckle to his lips. “I just don't want to put my harpsichord skills to waste.”

“Is that so?” To her relief, he released his hold on her fingers; her hand escaped his proximity and retreated beneath her voluminous sleeve. “Planning to upstage your own bard and serenading me by yourself?”

“I can’t perform in front of the court, but I’ll accept a single audience.” He winked, before bending his knees to retrieve his saber from the floor. She did not miss how he paused for a moment before rising to his feet again.

Even while sheathed, Cataclysm gleamed in its luxurious black and gold colors, its inscriptions warm against the scant light. He held the blade by its middle, its well-detailed hilt facing her. It strangely fascinated her, how this object, by a mere graze, could rot and decimate anything on its path.

While Lucky Charm...

“Curious?”

She caught sight of brilliant green, shadowed by the fall of his fringe. His face was grave, but there was no mistaking that he was giving her permission to touch it when he extended his arms, offering his saber for her inspection.

“I’ve never gotten to prod it in Adarna.” Mari’s hand hovered over the curlicues of its hilt, beautifully crafted with cold, molten dark steel. The chain attached to its hilt gave a gentle chime when she brushed it, a soft bell that sang quietly. “I was furious with it for awhile.”

“I’ve been trying to familiarize myself with it. It’s not going to hurt you, my lady.” He laid the weight of his sword on her left palm, as her right hand curled over the handle. “I know that you might not understand it, but the sword has a personality of a temperamental cat.”

“Like Noir?” She laughed, her thumb brushing against the cold engravings and smooth stone. The leather on its hilt was warm.  “Have you tried taming ancient artifacts with cheese as well?”  

“I might have.” He returned his hold on the hilt, his fingers sliding over her knuckles. Mari ignored how small bolts of lightning ran through her entire arm. “But so far, spending quality time with it made the biggest improvement?”   

“I’m surprised Nino isn’t around here.” Adrien seemed to have surrendered Cataclysm wholly to her now. She tested its weight, turning the scabbard over in her grasp to look at the design on its opposite flat. “I haven’t seen him around in Faeles recently.”

“He’s my usual sparring partner.” Adrien withdrew his hands to his side.

“And I take it that someone called for him up North?” Marinette raised an eyebrow.

“Now, now, my lady.” He tsked, waggling a finger. “He’s not my spymaster.”

“No, but he’s my spymaster’s lover,” she responded bluntly. “Bet you ten silvers?”

Adrien coughed into his hand in mock aghast. “I don’t think I would win against that wager, my lady.”

“I’m glad that our friends are getting along.”

“They’re getting along _very_ well.”

“Apparently, they’ve also partnered up on their roles of proud impromptu parents, something Alya to me was doing fine on her own. If Nino were here, you would've been sleeping on time.” She sighed in exasperation, before murmuring. “Honestly, where is your sense of self-preservation, kitty?”

“It probably got lost in your eyes?” Adrien tried to lighten the mood with a snicker.

 “See? Lack of sleep begets lame pickup lines. Try again, kitty.” Reaching for her own weapon at her back, she suddenly realized something and stopped mid-stretch. “Hey, would you like to touch it, too?”

“Wha-what?” He protested when she moved nearer, even as she reached further behind her, thrusting her chest forward. The flush of his cheeks made Mari realize what it was exactly that distracted him from her query. She dissuaded the further descent of his wayward thoughts with a lethal glare, before she extended her arm to brandish her own sword.

“Adrien.” She scowled. “I meant Lucky Charm.”

“Oh.” He blinked and looked away, embarrassed. “Alright.”

He reached for the gleaming cherry-wood scabbard, covered in gold insets and wrapped in chains. But then, Marinette suddenly retracted her weapon from his grasp.

“You better sit. Or lean on a wall? I mean, the sword is...” She shrugged her shoulders, then jutted her bottom lip. ”It’s heavy.”

“Heavy?”

“Yes.” Mari nodded, as he grasped the smooth rose handle of her heirloom. “It’s not as famous as Cataclysm, but Lucky Charm is wielded by all the women of the Cheng line. It’ll be as heavy as an anvil once a male...”

To both their astonishment, he lifted it easily out of Marinette’s hands. Adrien staggered, not from the weight, but from bracing himself too much against the ground.

Both of them gaped as Adrien slowly took Lucky Charm from its sheath.

“....It’s light.” He looked at her gleaming crimson blade in awe, hues of flame refracting on the floor as he twirled the thin sword, rolling its spine over his knuckles and back, the hilt snapping smoothly to his grip. Even with the sword now still, the swinging of the red tassels seemed to echo the tinkling of the black chains of his sabre, which Mari still held aloft, two instruments seemingly tuning to each other, two rivals reconnoitering. “And I can feel it _humming_.”

“Light as a feather?” Mari prompted, trying to fill the stunned silence.

“More like air.” Adrien experimentally swung the blade a couple of more times, thrusting once into empty space and incorporating a flick of the wrist that caused the tip to rip at his invisible enemy like a talon, before he twirled it once more, as if it were a mere baton, not the weapon she had trained to master for years. The bright scarlet sword kept trembling even after he braced the hilt stiff against his wrist. Seeing the point of his Cataclysm pointing down the floor away from her, he raised her Lucky Charm in front of his grinning face--a swift fencing salute in answer to hers. “It’s too...wobbly for my preference.”

“Can’t stand a more flexible blade?” Mari snorted, annoyed at how worried she was that he might accidentally hurt his left arm, remembering how the blade broke her father’s foot when he attempted to pick it up for Bri years ago. “Are you secretly my brother or something, Chat?”

“I certainly hope not. Are you jealous that your sword likes me better?” His arm now slowly flexed, his biceps tensing, his leg now sliding to the front as he assumed the guarding position. Everything about his stance screamed a challenge to her, goading her to take the bait, to step forward.

“Be careful, little kitten.” Mari pointedly kept the sheathed black sword directed to the ground, a hand on her hip as she glowered at his playful expression. “Seared cats don’t get to poke their paws in flames a second time.”

“ _Donnant donnant,”_ he responded with another old maxim, one that spoke so much on what his whole family stood for. _You do not get nothing for nothing_ , a risk-taking Agreste would say. “I think the rewards to be reaped from touching the flames would be worth it.”

“Your Highness, if you think I’m going to do this with you...” She rolled her eyes, looked at the wooden beams of the salle, and then sighed, done with his antics as she threw up her hands--along with the saber--in exasperation. She turned around, her back to him, and walked a few paces before--

“Are you scared, Ladybug?”

To his surprise, and her own delight, she leapt--no, _flew_ \--to him with her left arm outstretched, holding tight to her wires, before she let go. She lunged at him with his saber on her right hand--

“Nope.”

\--crossing their blades as he deflected her attack in reflex. Her smile turned sharp, as the balls of her feet touched the polished floor, and she launched herself for another lunge. However, as he was armed with a far more flexible blade, he was able to redirect the strength of her blows into his own blocks, throwing off her follow-up strikes, dictating the direction where she had to attack next lest his whip-like tip find their mark.

Not willing to be outdone by the rigid limitations of her weapon, she crouched low, bent to her knees, and made an upward sweep to stun his wrist and loosen his grip from the red-gold hilt.

To her absolute horror, she misjudged the power of her swing and accidentally unsheathed Cataclysm from its scabbard.

Cataclysm crossed its naked blade with Lucky Charm.

Both of them held their breath, afraid that the red steel would rust and rot, would crumble to pieces.

Yet their blades sang that familiar peal of striking true, still connected, still gritting together with the shuddering impact of their edges.  
  
“How...?” Adrien breathed in wonder, as he held their conjoined position. When he regained his composure, his instincts demanded he break from her, pushing her back with a parry.

Marinette had no time to think about the miracle of their discovery; there was something fierce that sluiced in her veins. She truly had nothing to fear in facing him, Crown Prince Adrien Agreste, in battle.  

Her sword will not break against him.

_I am his equal!_

Her mind screamed. Her hands shook. With such an unyielding blade, she needed both arms to power the twists of wrist that defined her style.

_I will not be the cause of his downfall._

She delivered another blow, another attempt to dislodge his grip on her _jian_. Apparently, he had recovered from the shock of her assault, as he confidently slid their blades together, light sparking upon contact. They traded strike for strike, their speed increasing as they fell to a pace that felt more like an elaborate dance than a excruciating duel.

Yet this comfortable pattern of circling each other, bouncing energy---thirty heartbeats now, this volley---was not what she wanted. Opportunity arose; he had her cornered, but her back never hit the wall. Legs split, her thighs and calves flattened against the cool surface of stone instead, leverage enough to drive him back before she swept her sword to an arc, gathering momentum for a decisive blow. It allowed him to enter the perimeter of her defense---all part of the gamble---before her arm coiled into a backhanded thrust, the tip of the black sabre sliding to the underside of the red hilt.

He slanted his hand. Instead of hitting her desired target, the hilt slapped her sword tip far enough to miss his flesh. The corded muscles of his arms rippled as he deflected her assault with the edge of the red blade. He inclined his forward, trying to catch the curve of the saber’s guarding handle, flattery in imitation.

With an irritated snarl, she catapulted herself from the wall into an aerial flip, her bell sleeves flaring as she flew from his range, avoiding the defeat of having her weapon ripped from her hands. Had she allowed the full force of her body weight to slam on him, she'd have overpowered him. Instead, her ankle hooked on his right shoulder, the well shoulder, as she spun midair. She launched herself to the other side of the room.

They stood apart. She was panting, sweat dripping from her brows, salt in her eyes. Everything on her now felt unbearable against her flesh, her clothes sticking to her skin, just additional weight that dragged on her limbs. Her mouth could taste the brine slipping through her parted lips, and the floor before her feet was dark and slippery with her sweat.

Gasps of breath felt thick between her teeth, hissing.

“I almost had you.”

She raised her head, expecting him to look at her with wide eyes, apologetic.  

Adrien was smiling, treacherous sweetling, but his eyes gleamed, stark against the dim light. He moved in slow, cautious, stalking strides. It reminded her of a sleek panther that glided between the silhouettes of forest canopies, ready to pounce at any second, no hesitation.

“Yes.” The end of his mouth tilted, smug. “You _almost_ did.”

“Are you sure you still want to fight?” Marinette tossed one of her damp pigtails, felt it whip across her back. “I see that you can utilize your left arm to its full capacity, but I insist that you don’t push your luck. I might fight dirty, _chaton_.”  

“But you did not, my lady.” Adrien was now clutching the area on his right collarbone, the angry red mark there promising an impressive bruise.  Dropping his left hand into a neutral position, he placed his sword hand on the side of his neck and tilted his head til the joints creaked. He rolled his left shoulder smoothly; no tell-tale pops portended further injury. Seemingly not content with that demonstration, he swung his entire arm around before spreading it out to his side, then flexing it, manipulating every joint like a heron airing his wing---or perhaps, just a flamboyant dragon striking a pose. “I do hope you shan't hold back on my account.”   

“Oh, I won't.”

Chloe told her she was ruthless. Cunning.

The court considered her more of a threat than Adrien could ever be. A manipulative witch queen, they touted behind her back. The Phoenix Princess would devour and consume everything in flames, just to acquire more power, more lands, fuel an ambition out of scale with what measly gifts the gods bestowed her. Her stay in Aelurus has so far endangered Adrien’s credibility to rule the country, the whole court looking down upon his decision to continue with the Unification with disdain. A mere ploy for an ambitious queen to take _everything_. A mere ploy for a weak king to cement his position.

But they were wrong about one thing.

The man that stood before her was the one that the Southerners had feared and respected: Adrien Agreste, who stood with dilated eyes, smile taunting, hands fisted. Even to those who have never felt the thrum of battlefield, have never felt the rage of one's body pulsating with the need to survive, being under such calculating scrutiny must inspire some trepidation. A man whose heart and mind must be warring constantly, what would happen when he completely shut out one in favor of the other? Would it unleash a self-immolating martyr or the sweetest-tongued tyrant to ever walk the earth?

What would happen when his heart and mind negotiated a truce instead, when intent and approach perfectly combined to produce a gambit that anticipated his enemies’ every possible move….

He was a real force to reckon with.

This was the first mistake of the Aelurian court and the Northern loyalists: underestimate their future King.

_Their second mistake was--_

She held his gaze with a brimming conviction, knowing that she would win this fight.

“You want me to fight dirty?”

Black pupils now almost fully swallowed the green of his irises as she slowly removed her navy satin robe, sliding them off from her shoulders, freeing the lustrous sheen of her shoulder, till it revealed the curve of her arms. She can feel the scorching heat of his stare as it followed the exposed pieces of her flesh, how the vermillion silk clung to her like second skin, hiding nothing.

He was breathless. He shouldn’t be breathless. Even with his injury, he shouldn’t be experiencing the same sweltering heat that had her drenched in sweat. The short spar was not taxing enough to make them both so winded.

No. They weren’t breathless because of the fight. They weren't even tired at all.

They were breathless because of each other.

He was seeing the form of her body, the fabric against the light hiding nothing. He was seeing the painful points of her nipples tenting against her shirt. Her hips swaying, tempting. Her eyes darkening to the darkest of seas during storms. Her lips shuddering, her mouth dry, insatiable with an unnameable thirst. His eyes followed a drop of sweat, as it traced the line of her neck, his throat bobbing when it slid down to the dip of her chest.

_\--she never wanted Aelurus._

“I’ll show you _dirty_ , alleycat.”

One day, she would learn to love this country that had raised and brought him to life. One day, she would offer her devotion to the seas of this nation, the way she had vowed to protect the mountains of her people. One day, she would rule them. One day, she would fight for Aelurus with everything she had.

But not today, because she would never learn all of those, if it weren’t for the man before her.    

Marinette only wanted _him_.

The saber clattered to the ground.

“Marinette?”

Adrien probably expected her to saunter slowly to him. Give him time to react, to figure out her intention.

Well, she would come to him.

Just not in the way that he expected.

Her feet propelled her to air, but her bandolier lifted her the rest of the way, up, almost reaching the ceiling beams. Adrien’s gaze followed her soaring flight with amazement, his mouth wide open, as she glided through the air with her wires...

“ _Here._ ” She cackled.

...and threw her robe at his gaping face.

Adrien yelped like a spooked cat and tried to claw his way from beneath the fabric.  

Marinette laughed, almost curled her hand to her trembling belly, that _silly_ feline sound making her so happy. Then with a victorious giggle, she released her hold from her wires, and her whole body dropped on him.  

Adrien shouted in alarm when her thighs clamped at his torso, the back of her knees anchoring to the jut of his hips. The momentum took them both to the floor with a loud thud, with his head cushioned in her hands. He let out a muffled curse ( _destroy me, oh god._ ) as he finally freed himself from the ocean of her suffocating robes. She moved down, his wet skin sticky against her damp one, slipping her hips against his in that divine ( _wicked_ ) friction.

He went cross-eyed at the sight of her lips almost brushing the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t underestimate me, kitty,” she whispered, warm breath lingering against his lashes. Her now loose hair draped to the sides of his cheeks, her hypnotic blue eyes dazzling him. Her blunt nails raked through his scalp in a relaxing gesture, even as she closed the spaces between their bodies.

“I...I wasn’t.” He wheezed, still mesmerized by the way her hands kneaded the tense knots at his nape. “I was fighting seriously, my lady. Until...until you--”

Perhaps his tongue had numbed, for he grew silent when she pushed herself up from their entwined limbs, her red satin shirt draping down to show him what she had, mere moments earlier, been denying him. Under the deepening shadows and low lighting, they were no longer relegated to his imagination.

“I was open on all sides, _chaton_.”

Marinete was trying not to dissolve in another fit of giggles when his frightened green eyes locked on hers.

“My..my lady?”

“Even now.” Slowly, she slithered closer to him, their clothes rustling with the unfurling of her whole body to lay parallel against his. “I’m all open.”      

Her rapid, heavy pants shifted his gaze to her open mouth, and unconsciously, he licked his own cracked lips, as if only know feeling the sudden parchness that must be plaguing them both.

"You're so transparent, kitty. You worship me with your eyes." Her arms now lay on his chest, as she leaned even closer, her mouth now tracing patterns across his cheeks. “You ground me with your words.” She practically thrummed with excitement at how he melted against her. “You devastate me with your touch.” The calloused pads of her fingers now swept delicately across his brow, before it skimmed the crevices of his mouth. “Do you even know what you do to me, Chat?”

"Mari,” he gasped, as her eyes became half-lidded, breathing slow. “What are you--"

"Taking a page out of your book, my prince. You’ve tempted me enough. How long have you waited for another kiss? Or...” Her hands dug to the folds of his open shirt, tugging him to her as her mouth moved across his, tasting the musk of his skin and the salt of his sweat. “Was I the only one dreaming of more?"

Green eyes darkened, gooseflesh rose in response to the intensity of his hunger, and the hands that had trembled lightly at her waist now imprisoned her, pressing her flush against the hardness of his gut.

He should know she was not asking. _Kiss me_ , she demanded of him. _Kiss me senseless_.

Adrien raised his hips, hands locked on her straightened elbows, and had her flat on the floor in an instant. He hovered over her, breathing heavily, as he pinned her down on the ground, both arms taut above her head.

She waited.

“I can’t.” He looked down at her, voice soft with unconcealed regret. “My lady, we can’t do this.”   

At first, Marinette gasped, her mouth open in disbelief, before her gaze narrowed, incensed.

“Adrien,” she tried to bend her elbows, trying to dislodge his hold. When that failed, she wriggled her legs free underneath his shins, successfully using her calves to anchor them on the swell of his rump. “I want you _now_.”

Her sudden weight pulled him down, causing him to release his hold on her elbows in order to catch himself, palms out on the floor, lest he crush her. This enabled her to hook her arms around his shoulders and raise herself, closing their proximity. She pressed kisses on the hollow of his throat, the edge of his jaw, nibbled at the swell of his earlobes.

A guttural, close-mouthed moan rumbled from his chest, contradicting his harsh hiss to,

“Stop.”

Adrien lowered her back to the floor, one hand cradling the back of her head as he did, all of his weight on the other. His palm slid down from her neck, down the curve of her spine, and to her waist. She gloated at how his very body seemed to defy his good intentions until his hands clamped down, pinning her arms tightly close to her sides, preventing her from moving, from panting against his ear.

His damp forehead now pressed against her furrowed one, he repeated harshly, “We can’t. _Mari_ \--”

Groaning his name against the curve of his throat, she locked her ankles at the base of his spine. This prompted harsher methods from his end, his entire body weight now mustered to press her flat on the wooden floor, pinning her completely immobile.

Defeated, her wide blue eyes  she stared at him in consternation, until his steady, purely rational eyes made her feel supremely foolish.

Was she the only one who--?

But his letters said he wanted her.

Adrien wanted her. He swore it was true. She believed him. Then why---

"Is that it?” An indignant huff blew apart their intermingled bangs. “Is it a game of chase for you?

“ _What?_ ”

“Leading me on?” She scoffed, head turning to the side, unable to look at him any longer, lest he see the tears brimming in the margins of her eyes. “Making me surrender?"

“Marine--”

"All of those words that I’ve read thousands of times. How they tore my every waking moment, thinking of you. You told me of your dreams, about a succubus in my likeness that has invaded your bed and settled in your heart. You told me that every night she haunts you, that you can hardly sleep---” Breathing harshly through gritted teeth, she continued in righteous anger. “That's all you just running away with writing your _poetry_ ." She spat out the last word with enough vitriol to ensure he realized that poetry, in this case, meant mere _lies_ . "Is it fun playing with me? No. You're a _stupid_ cat too sentimental for your own good. You pity me then. You probably thought no man has ever been in my thrall like you pretended to be. That's it, isn't it? With ladies like Chloe around to always fawn at you, I'm just an ugly duckling who doesn't know the value of my own plumage!"

"My la--"

"How dare you play with me, Adrien Agreste.” She snarled against his chin, actively thrashing against his hold, to break herself free. “How dare you lead me on!"

"I am not leading you on!” Their noses almost crashed, just as heated. “It's true: I can barely sleep, thinking of you. I can't taste food--all I taste is that sweet unforgiving peck of a morsel you gave me of you. No amount of water or wine quenches my thirst of you.” His mouth squirmed to a grimace in disbelief. “Hell, every pore in my body practically sweats _you_. Not attractive enough!"

"Then why?" She demanded, swallowing tears of injured pride. Of rejection. "Why, Adrien?"

"Marinette, please. I can't imagine---” His hands now slid from her elbows to her wrists, gripping them tight, as his head slid to the crook of her right shoulder. “---tolerate the notion of any other woman taking your place as my wife, my queen, the mother of my children, the other half of my world. Even Cataclysm knows it, if it indeed serves me.” He took in the gleam of their blades on the floor, referring to her ability to even wield his damned weapon without destroying the entire building. “I want you---so be it. But we have to be careful. You were right; I can’t let them steer us into losing our senses. We have to be above reproach--"

" _Fine._ I'm the one who doesn't care about our future.” She was fully screaming now, arching her spine and trying to forcefully hurl him off her. “I'm the one without foresight or consideration. I'm the harlot who makes you heel and follow with the temptations of my body. I'm the one without control, the one maddened by desire, the one forcing a man who obviously does not want me ba--"

“ _Marinette_!”

Adrien roared before his fingers dove to the smooth, dark locks of her hair, weaving them around his knuckles as he brought her open mouth to his. His teeth and tongue claimed her lips, and just when she felt the need to breathe claw at her chest, he took a moment to recover with one quick snorting inhalation. As if this shot of air was enough to fortify his will, he drank once more from her surprised, yet pleased gasp, shifting his hold to the swell of her buttocks before dragging his hardness against her crotch in one furious thrust.

“A-Adri--’”

She mewled as pleasure tore through her senses, her toes curling at the back of his hips. In answer, he siphoned the syllables of his name from her mouth, as his hands found purchase at the back of her thighs. With one last squeeze and an aggravated growl, he wrenched himself away from her.  

They took huge gulps of air, panting against each other--her mouth panting against the prominence of his collarbone, the outline of his lips pressed against the curve of her throat--while she remained boneless on the floor, beneath his raised hips. His palms cradled her nape, fingers splayed taut through her hair. She could feel his eyes shut against her chin, his jaw tighten against her shoulder.  

“This.” His voice was guttural, rippling across her chest in a way that sent liquid heat pooling on her belly. “For now, I can only give you _this._ You have no inkling, no idea at all, Marinette--” A soft press of his mouth on the fluttering pulse at her throat.”--of what I do to you in my most private fantasies. I can barely control myself right now. The court will--”  

“Hang your court and its tittering birds!” She took another gasp of breath, a hand gripping his tense arm on her side. “I won’t let them dictate our relationship, like what they did to my sister. I won’t let them tear us apart.”

“My strong, valiant lady. I cannot expect you to fear what the Aelurian court is capable of.”

He laughed, but his voice shook, as if breaking with tears. He gradually raised his head from its perch on her shoulder and met her determined eyes with his pleading ones.

“By the gods, I know how formidable you can be. But please, for now, help me to stay strong. We don’t want them to question the legitimacy of our children.” His thumb brushes the inside of her wrist, seeking assurance. “For their sake, at least, let us stick to our plan, my lady.”

Her nose flared as she exhaled in frustration, just before pushing him off her.

“Fine,” was her clipped reply. ”I understand.”

Her shaking legs managed to bring her up to feet; she ignored his hand offered to help her stand. Without looking at him and his lost, befuddled gaze, she refused to speak as she fixed her clothes as well as she could, collecting her robes and summoning her sword with one sweep of her wire.

“Marine--”

“Good day, your highness.” She bowed from the waist, her arms at her sides in a perfect Aelurian bow, monarch to monarch, business partners of equal standing. “I apologize for my unbecoming behavior.”

She stormed off, the metal grate clanging at her wake.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **#tbt, author's notes, 2000 circa**  
>  **miko:** Finally, we're done with Spring and halfway with Book 2! We've had this scene written for quite some time--  
>  **peonydee:** _(offscreen yelling)_ Yeah, you were so gung ho to write that scandalously (limey) thirsty Spar TM, you couldn't concentrate on writing the scenes BEFORE it! _ANG LANDILANDI TA-_  
>  **miko:** ANYWAY, do you have any suggestions on who we can commission to draw for this scene?
> 
> Lastly, thank you for reading! Happy Holidays!


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